


Architects of the World

by a_wardens_oath



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: AU, F/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_wardens_oath/pseuds/a_wardens_oath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the defeat of the archdemon and the end of the Blight, with Amaranthine saved and Mother and Architect both destroyed the Hero of Ferelden disappears in the night, fleeing the reputation her actions have earned her. But a chance meeting on the shores of Kirkwall starts a chain of events that will change the course of the city forever. Because some people are not meant for the simple life and fate has not yet finished with Kerilyn Cousland-Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into Exile

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from the DA kinkmeme: _Hawke and the Warden are the same person. I don’t care how you do it, what kind of timeline manipulation you have to do to make it work. Bioware can’t seem to keep their own timeline straight, so why should we? I want to see a story where the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden are one and the same. (Warden)Hawke/Anders is preferred, but I’m flexible!_  
> 

_Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland-Hawke_

_[16 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_

Kirkwall. The City of Chains. This is hardly where I expected to spend my “retirement,” such as it is. And yet, here I am.

Or there I will be, at any rate. The ship docks tomorrow morning and after that...well, I guess we’ll have to see what happens after that.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I haven’t kept any sort of journal since the end of the Blight, unless you want to count the reports I churned out during my tenure as Warden-Commander. (Just so we’re clear, I really, _really_ don’t. Those things were more akin to systematic torture than anything like journaling.) But I’m stuck on a ship in the middle of the Waking Sea with this notebook and nothing else to pass the time, so I guess I’m starting up the habit again.

These last few days have been...strange, to say the least. I have found a degree of anonymity aboard this ship that I haven’t had in...years. Since Ostagar, at the very least. The people here don’t look at me and see a Grey Warden, they don’t see a leader, and they _certainly_ don’t see the blasted “Hero of Ferelden.” I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be just another face in the crowd. It’s nice, not having those expectations weighing me down.

And that right there is exactly why I left Amaranthine in the first place. I couldn’t handle being the Hero of Ferelden, being Commander of the Grey. Shades, I couldn’t even handle being the sole survivor of the Cousland massacre (the fact that Fergus survived as well seems to have little impact on the general populace). All I want is peace, yet no matter where I go, with the way people react you’d think I was Andraste herself. It’s like I’m wearing a giant sign around my neck reading “hey, I killed an archdemon - ask me how!” It’s ridiculous.

Especially when you realize that I didn’t. Kill the archdemon, that is. Loghain did. But no one wants to hear that. After all, it’s a much better story if I was the one to deliver that final blow. I was the people’s darling, their hero; he was the twisted, paranoid bastard who started a civil war. Of course I was the one to finish off the archdemon, the one to end the Blight for good. It couldn’t have ended any other way.

Imbeciles.

I spend my entire life wanting to be a hero, wanting to go on great adventures and save the world. I was the second child of a noble house and for all that I never once begrudged Fergus his role as heir, of course I wanted my own way to stand out. But now that I _am_ a hero, now that I actually _have_ saved the world (or played a pivotal role in said saving, at the very least), there is very little that I would not give for anonymity. For the chance to live my life in peace. I don’t ask for normality - I’d be bored within a fortnight. I just want...

No, that’s not right. It’s not what I want, it’s what I _don’t_ want. I don’t want people to stare at me as I walk down the street; I don’t want them treating me as though I were some sort of infallible, super-human being. As though they thought I was more than them. I don’t know how much longer I could deal with it.

So as soon as the Fereldan Wardens were capable of surviving without me I ran. Left a note on my desk naming Nathaniel my successor (and isn’t that just typical of my life these days, that the person I trust most to take care of my Wardens is Nathaniel bloody _Howe_...) and disappeared into the night. I don’t expect to see any of them again and that thought...is surprisingly unpleasant. I accepted the post of Warden-Commander because I had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. Zevran had run off back to Antiva, Leliana to Orlais, and Fergus hied back to Highever the moment he could get away from me. Morrigan, Wynne, Sten, Shale - all had dispersed back to their lives once the Blight that had drawn them together was over. And the less said about Alistair, the better. So I threw myself into the one thing I had left - the Wardens. I expected to spend a while dragging the Ferelden branch back from the edge of extinction before moving on to my next project, whatever that may have been. I didn’t expect to make _friends_.

And yet somehow between them Anders, Nathaniel, Oghren, and Sigrun managed to worm their way under my skin and drag me kicking and screaming back into something resembling sanity. I don’t think “friends” is even a strong enough word anymore...

But despite all of that, the promise of anonymity proved too strong a temptation to resist. So I found a ship and set sail for the Free Marches, intent on getting lost in the crowd of Fereldans still fleeing their devastated homeland. If it worked for Nathaniel, I figure it might work for me. After all, it’s not like anyone outside of Ferelden will be able to recognize me, as either The Warden or a Cousland.

I didn’t choose Kirkwall as my destination for any particular reason, not really. I just jumped aboard the first ship out of Amaranthine harbor that wasn’t headed to Denerim. I could just as easily have wound up on my way to Starkhaven or Tantervale or even Llomeryn. Instead, I’m less than four hours outside of the City of Chains, center of templar power in the east.

This is going to be interesting...

\- Kerilyn Cousland


	2. "Call Me Keri"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions are made, a deal is struck.

The gates of Kirkwall stood shut, impregnable despite the refugees’ best efforts to the contrary. The city had gotten its fill of Fereldan refugees in the two years since the Blight first hit - they had no room for more. At least, that was what the guardsman stationed outside the city gates reported and from what Kerilyn could see of the crowd around her, she couldn’t say she blamed him. Ass though he may have been, he had a point. Refugees swarmed the docks: men and women and children, elves and humans, all of them tired and travel-worn and not a one of them with a sovereign to their name. They offered little and asked much of a city that owed them no allegiance and for all Kerilyn sympathized with their plight, she understood the reasoning behind the orders.

That did not mean she had any intention of _abiding_ by those orders, however. She was clever and she was competent - surely she could find a way into the city where others had failed. After all, hadn’t she been doing that for the last two years? (It was possible, now that she thought about it, that the events during the Blight had forever skewed her perspective on life...) The soldier at the gate had mentioned a Captain Ewald, hadn’t he? He was the one with the power to get her into the city, the one she would have to track down. That shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? She made her way through the maze-like corridors of the Gallows, the refurbished prison where the Fereldan refugees awaited ships to take them back to their forsaken homeland, with Tiberius close at her heels. They drew stares from guards and refugees alike, confused and suspicious and more than a little hostile. For all that Kerilyn had left her beloved archdemon-hide armor in Amaranthine (the goal of this entire venture, after all, was to blend in, not run around wearing armor that all but screamed “Look at me, I kill dragons for fun and profit!”), her equipment was still far superior to anything any of the other refugees streaming into the city owned. Flames, odds were that it was far superior to anything they had ever _seen_. Add to that the mabari war hound at her side and she was the picture of a wealthy target. Destitute refugees eyed her as though calculating just how much coin they could make by picking a fight, but Ty’s low growls dissuaded even the most desperate. They were left alone until they walked out into a courtyard of white marble, walls lined with more of the weeping slave statues that had greeted them in the harbor. More refugees loitered in the courtyard and a merchant of some sort had set up a stall off to one side of the entrance, but it was the group clustered in the courtyard center that drew Kerilyn’s eyes. A cluster of refugees surrounded a man in a guard’s uniform, the expressions on their faces ranging from curious to outright begging, gazing up at him as though he held their very lives in his hands. This, then, would be Captain Ewald.

Before Kerilyn could attempt to make her own case to the beleaguered guard-captain, a hand on her shoulder drew her attention. At the first brush of fingers she pivoted on her heel, hand flying to the hilts of the sword and dagger strapped to her back without conscious thought. She managed to stop herself before she actually drew the weapons but it was a close thing. She was going to have to watch that instinct if she wanted to lay low - getting arrested for starting fights in the street was _not_ how she wanted her entrance into the city to go. Though that assumed that she got into the city in the first place... 

Ignoring the instinctive need to _protect, defend_ , she regarded the woman - girl, really - standing before her, lower lip caught between her teeth. 

She was younger than Kerilyn, but probably not by much. Older than sixteen but younger than one-and-twenty, if she had to guess. Dark hair, amber eyes, and there was a niggling sense of familiarity that Kerilyn could neither place nor ignore. Though with all the traveling she had done the last few years, Kerilyn wouldn’t be surprised if _every_ Fereldan looked vaguely familiar by now. And this girl was unmistakably Fereldan, from the dark hair to the strong features to the stubborn determination radiating from her every move.

The girl seemed disinclined to speak up once she had Kerilyn’s attention, instead staring at her with an expression that was distressingly familiar, all wide eyes and parted lips. Oh, _balls_. She had seen hero-worship on enough faces to recognize it in the girl before her. This was bad. This was _very_ bad. If this kid recognized her...

“Can I help you?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady But the girl just stood there silently, hand on Kerilyn’s shoulder. She quirked an eyebrow and watched as twin spots of color appeared on the girl’s cheeks when she noticed her own staring.

“Oh! No, I mean. I just.” She stopped, closed her eyes, and took a single deep breath. When she opened her eyes again the look of hero-worship had faded into something much less frightening and her mouth twisted up into an embarrassed little half-smile. “I’m sorry. I just saw you go by and I thought I recognized you. Then I saw your mabari and I knew I did.” Her smile strengthened even as a cold ball of nerves twisted in Kerilyn’s gut. Oh, Maker...

Something of this must have shown on her face because the girl flushed again and hastened to explain. “It’s fine, I didn’t expect you to remember me. It was a long time ago and I’m sure I didn’t make the best of impressions what with the terror and the smiting and all, but you saved my life back in Ferelden. From some templars in Lothering. And I saw you here and I wanted to thank you but then I realized that I didn’t even know your name and oh, Maker, I sound like an idiot and can we just forget about this and start over?” She stuck out her hand, that Fereldan determination lurking in the lift of her chin, the set of her jaw. “Hello, I’m -”

“Bethany.” The knot of fear in Kerilyn’s stomach loosened as she finally placed the girl’s face. Lothering, like she had said, just after Ostagar. There had been templars harassing her and Kerilyn had stepped in, driven them off. She had taken the girl - Bethany - home as Morrigan grumbled about time wasted and survival of the fittest and Alistair suffered from almost-a-templar guilt at helping an obvious apostate. She shook the proffered hand and grinned in relief - Bethany knew her, yes, but not as a Warden, not as _the_ Warden. Just as one more refugee who had been in the right place at the right time. “Yes, I remember you. You were waiting for your brother and sister to return so you could leave the country, right?”

Bethany winced, a shuddering motion that carried through her entire body and oh, there was a story there. One Kerilyn wasn’t certain she wanted to know. She had enough horror stories of her own from the Blight without adding near-strangers’ to the pile.

“Yes, I-”

Before Bethany could share her tale of woe or tell Kerilyn to mind her own damned business or burst into a song and dance routine or whatever it was she was working herself up to, her name rang out from the other side of the courtyard.

“Bethany!”

As one Kerilyn and Bethany turned to seek out the source of the call, Kerilyn’s hand drifting back to the hilts of her weapons once more.

It might be more difficult to break that particular habit than she had anticipated.

The shout had come from an older woman who even now was running toward them, grey hair flying about her head and eyes fixed on Bethany as though terrified that the girl would disappear should she glance away for even a moment. Behind her, utilizing a deft combination of fierce glares and gentle, guiding touches, a redhead ensured that the woman’s path remained free of obstacles. The redhead was completely unfamiliar, but Kerilyn recognized - vaguely, and if she had not already been re-introduced to Bethany she likely would not have recognized her at all - Bethany’s mother. Leandra? She thought that was her name, at least.

“Bethany, darling, you know better than to run off like that!”

In Kerilyn’s experience, a run like the one Leandra (and the more she thought about it, the more confident she was that that was her name) had just completed across the Gallows courtyard would be more than enough to exhaust any older woman: even Kerilyn’s own mother, warrior though she had once been, had struggled to keep up with her daughter as they ran through their besieged castle. But Leandra wasn’t even out of breath. Impressive. She came to a stop beside Bethany and studied her daughter, lips thinned into a worried line. “Who knows what could happen to you on your own?” Here she turned her attention to Kerilyn, disapproving frown firmly affixed to her face. “I hardly think this is the appropriate time to be making new friends, dearest.”

Bethany placed a soothing hand on her mother’s arm, tactile reassurance that she was here, she was fine. “Actually, Mother, I would say that now is the ideal time to be making friends. It’s not like we have anything better to do with our time until Uncle Gamlen shows up. Besides,” here she tossed her head back and lifted her chin, the picture of a proud, imperious Fereldan, “she’s hardly a stranger. This is...” Bethany stopped and turned to Kerilyn, face flushed. “This would be the point where I admit that I don’t know your name. I don’t believe you ever gave it.”

“Probably not,” Kerilyn agreed with an easy smile as she fought off a mild panic attack. She groped desperately for a name that she would answer to without hesitation but would not be associated in any way with Warden-Commander Kerilyn Cousland. “Call me Keri.” It would serve well enough, she supposed. She flashed her most charming grin at Leandra and the silent redhead, the smile that had Ser Cauthrien stepping out of her path without a fight, the smile that coerced Kardol into throwing his Legionnaires behind her for the battle in Denerim. The one that put Alistair on the throne, despite his own objections (the one that failed the one time she truly needed it, the one that could do anything except give her her lover back). “We met once before, actually. In Lothering after a minor altercation with a few templars. Your daughter merely came over to thank me again.”

A spark of recognition lit in Leandra’s eyes and the distrust in her expression twisted into something closer to curiosity. “Yes, I remember you. You had the most... interesting companions with you.”

_Interesting._ Well, that was one way to describe Morrigan and Alistair, she supposed. A very _diplomatic_ way. Personally, she was more inclined to use phrases such as “utterly mad” and “more trouble than they’re worth.”

Though that could just be the lingering bitterness talking. You never know. She made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh but somewhere between the thought and the deed it got twisted into something harsh and humorless, tearing out of her throat before she had a chance to stop it.

“That would be me. The one surrounded by lunatics. I seem to attract them.” Lunatics and assassins and exiles, the ones with nothing else left, the ones society didn’t want anymore. She would ask why it kept happening, but she already knew the answer. No one normal would survive the life she lived. She would say the life she chose, but...well, choice is a funny little thing, isn’t it?

Kerilyn shook herself lightly, forcing her focus back to the group in front of her. “Anyway. I apologize for keeping Bethany from you - I had not realized you would be worried.”

She had not even considered the possibility that there was anyone _to_ worry over Bethany. And what did it say about her life that the idea of over-protective parents was so very alien?

“I... well. I don’t blame you, my dear. I just worry; I’m sure you know how it is.”

She didn’t, at least not in the way that Leandra meant. She knew what it was like to feel responsible for someone, yes, but that degree of worry for their well-being? She tended to collect people who could more than take care of themselves. She might worry over their sanity, their rampant alcoholism, or their tendency to want to kill one another, but she never really worried about their safety outside of battle.

But she did not say any of that to Leandra - it fell a little too far on the side of “not normal” for her to admit to it.

“Of course.” At her side, Tiberius gave an impatient huff and pushed his nose against the palm of her hand, insistent. Kerilyn glanced down at him, mouth curled into a fond smile. “Sorry, boy. Wasn’t trying to be rude.” She scratched behind his ears in further apology before returning her attention to Leandra. “It appears that I am being called out on my appalling manners. This is Tiberius, my stalwart companion and very dear friend.”

Behind Leandra, the still-unnamed redheaded woman chuckled. “And now I am taking my social cues from a dog. Are we quite certain we are not still in Ferelden?” She held out a hand. “Since your friend there seems intent on proper introductions, I am Aveline Vallen.”

Kerilyn reached out to shake the offered hand and oh, Maker, the woman had a grip of iron. “Keri.” She left it at that - let _Aveline Vallen_ infer what she would from the lack of a family name.

The conversation lulled after that, though Bethany, Leandra and Aveline showed no interest in leaving. Apparently it truly had been that boring before Kerilyn had wandered by. She wondered idly how long they had been waiting outside Kirkwall’s gates seeking entrance. When no one else made any move to start up the conversation once more, Kerilyn sighed and searched for an acceptable topic of conversation. Sitting around in silence was awkward, but her ability to pull off any sort of small talk that didn’t involve troop movements or killing darkspawn had deteriorated rapidly over the last year.

“So what brings you to Kirkwall?”

_Suave, Kerilyn_. She - barely - held back the urge to smack herself for her utter stupidity. _Acceptable_ , she had been looking for something _acceptable_ to say, not something guaranteed to bring up bad memories. Seriously, how had someone this moronic survived this long?

The self-recrimination only got worse when she saw the grief in Leandra’s eyes and Bethany wouldn’t meet her gaze. The first people she had said more than three words to since leaving Amaranthine, and she had gone and scared them away with her inability to hold a conversation like a normal person. How was this her life? 

“Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t thinking: I have this problem where I open my mouth and words come out without any sort of input from my brain. Can we just pretend I didn’t say that and go back to the uncomfortable silence? That’d be great.”

Leandra chuckled, but it was weak, watery. “Stop fretting, dear: you haven’t offended us. It simply has been a...difficult journey. For all of us. My son and eldest daughter were both lost to the Blight before we managed to escape.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Kerilyn bit her lip, eyes cast down. She had never been very good with the whole sympathy thing. It always came across as fake, insincere, and the more she meant it the more false it sounded. Words were difficult, sometimes. “I’m apologizing too much, aren’t I? I should stop that.”

Bethany rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s...well, it’s not all right, but you know what I mean. The sentiment is appreciated, if silly. It was hardly your fault.” 

"I...Can I ask what happened?" Kerilyn tugged her lower lip between her teeth and glanced up at Bethany through lowered lashes. She was desperately curious, yes, but the last thing she wanted to do was making things worse for Bethany or Leandra. "I mean, please, if you don't want to talk about it than tell me to sod off. I promise I won't be upset. I just..." she trailed off. _She just_ what, exactly? Wanted to poke and prod at their worst memories? Wanted to prove to herself that her life was no more screwed up than anyone else? Just what was she trying to accomplish here?

Bethany shrugged, an awkward, jerky motion that said more about her comfort level - or lack thereof - with this topic than any words she could have chosen. "They were at Ostagar. Carver - that's my brother - he came back. Marian...Marian didn't." She paused to wrap her arms around her stomach before continuing. "We lost Carver when the darkspawn horde destroyed Lothering. He took on an ogre to protect us."

Ostagar. Everything always came back to Ostagar, didn't it? "I hadn't realized there were so many other survivors of the battle at Ostagar," Kerilyn murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Then she realized just what she had said and flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. That was somewhat tactless, wasn't it? I didn't mean - that is, I..."

"You were at Ostagar as well?" Aveline interrupted what was proving to be an impressive display of verbal blunders on Kerilyn's part, for which she was most grateful. "I don't remember seeing you there - what company were you part of?" The question was casual enough, but there was a hint of steel hidden behind the words. Suspicion, Kerilyn thought. Aveline, it seemed, was not one to take anything at face value. That was good to know.

And suddenly late nights reminiscing with Varel at the Keep became so much more relevant. The darkspawn taint in her blood ensured that she rarely managed a full night’s sleep, instead spending the small hours of the morning swapping stories with her seneschal. Stories that had, on occasion, included their respective experiences during the Battle of Ostagar. She actually had an answer for this one that was not "oh, I was with the Grey Wardens.” Because that would go over so well...

“Third Company, under Captain Varel.” Well, it wasn’t like he was there to deny it, was he? And the odds that anyone in this group would drop in on him in Amaranthine to check her story were laughable at best.

At that, Bethany's head snapped up from where she had been studying the rocks at her feet.

"Third Company? That's where Marian and Carver were stationed. Do you...did you know them? Marian and Carver Hawke?"

It was the first time Kerilyn had heard Bethany's last name, and it was...familiar. She had heard it before, she just wasn't certain... Oh. Images of Daveth, the cut-purse recruit Duncan had found on the streets of Denerim, trying to chat up a soldier only hours before the Joining that would claim his life filtered through the haze of memories. Kerilyn had chatted with that soldier for some time between that Joining and King Cailan's war council. If her memory served (and it usually did) the soldier was a cheerful girl once the unwanted suitors had been driven off and they talked of many things of little real value. Shared stories of the families they had left behind, mostly (the families they had lost). Tried desperately not to think about the battle that awaited them come sundown. The soldier, she recalled, was not one of those overly confident in Cailan's ability to pull off the impossible.

She had introduced herself as Hawke.

Older sister, it seemed, to one Bethany Hawke. Daughter of Leandra Hawke.

Oh.

"I...yes, I did, actually. Marian, at least. I don't think I met Carver. I hadn’t realized you were related. I didn't know...that is, I wasn't sure what had happened to them after the battle - I got knocked out and woke up alone nearly two days later. I had hoped...I knew the odds weren't good but I had hoped she was one of the lucky ones. I... I'm sorry to learn that she wasn't."

While not the most eloquent speech she had ever given, it did not make her look like a callous bastard, which was definitely an improvement over some of the other things to have come out of her mouth in the last twenty minutes. 

The corner of Bethany’s mouth twisted up into a bittersweet smile. “Yes. I was, as well.” She gave a little shake of her head and utterly failed at subtly changing the subject. “What about you? I don’t remember ever seeing you around Lothering after that day - what drove you out here?”

Kerilyn shrugged. “I just...had to get out of Ferelden. There was nothing left for me there, you know? I needed a chance to start over.” A truthful answer, for all that it was vague. And the others seemed to accept it without question, which made things that much easier. “I take it you’re having trouble getting into the city, as well?”

"They're not letting anyone in unless they have official business," Aveline answered, kneeling down on the ground and holding a hand out for Tiberius to sniff. The hound whuffed and leaned forward to let her scratch his head, as clear a sign of approval as he could have given. Kerilyn hid a smile behind one hand - as distrustful of _her_ as Aveline may be, she did not seem to have a problem with the dog. Oh, but Fereldans were predictable.

"Our - _my_ uncle Gamlen is a nobleman here, so we're hoping he'll have a way to get us in. The captain at the front gate had someone deliver a message to him from us," Bethany said as she watched Aveline ruffle the dog's fur with a fond smile. "That was three days ago, though. I'm worried about what could have detained him for so long."

"That's assuming he still lives in Kirkwall. If you'll remember, Captain Ewald did not know of any nobles named Gamlen; it's possible he could have left some time ago." Aveline did not look up from Tiberius as she said this, as though unwilling to see Bethany and Leandra's reactions to her theory. Kerilyn had no such compunctions, however, and watched as Leandra's lips settled into a thin line and Bethany dropped her gaze away from woman and dog in order to scan the crowd of refugees around them, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“He is here. He must be. Gamlen wouldn’t abandon the family estates.” Leandra sounded as though she were trying to convince herself as much as she was Aveline, and doing a poor job of it. It was then that Bethany’s wandering gaze fixed on a point off in the distance and a relieved grin split her face.

“I think that’s him!” she cried, gesturing to a figure walking across the courtyard toward them. Kerilyn frowned as she studied the approaching figure. At first glance the man was anything but noble, all grungy clothing and unkempt hair: she could not figure out why Bethany seemed so certain that this was her missing uncle. But as she looked closer, watched how the man moved and the way he carried himself, she realized that she was wrong. He certainly _looked_ the part of the impoverished peasant but he held himself like a nobleman. She could see the lingering effects of comportment lessons in the set of his shoulders, the lift of his chin, markers that she only recognized from years of training of her own. Whatever he may be now, this man had been raised as a noble. There was no denying that fact. As he drew closer Kerilyn began to see, too, what Bethany must have noticed from a distance - his features marked him, without a doubt, as a relative of Leandra’s. He had the same proud nose, the same defined cheekbones, the same sharp blue eyes. The man - Gamlen - drew to a halt a few feet from Leandra, watching her with something like apprehension in those eyes. That...was not a good sign.

“Leandra,” he greeted, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Damn, girl. The years haven’t been kind to you.”

Leandra either didn’t notice his discomfort or chose to ignore it, instead dashing forward to throw her arms around her brother. “Oh, Gamlen!”

This had apparently not been the reaction he had anticipated - it took him a moment to gather himself enough to wrap his arms around her in kind and even then there was a distinct hesitation to his movements. Kerilyn watched the exchange, her entire body humming with a kind of wary vigilance - she did not know what was going to happen next, but whatever it was she doubted that it would be the easy fix to all their problems that both Leandra and Bethany seemed convinced it was. There was something deeply not right about this situation and she would not be able to relax until she knew just what it was. Luckily, she did not have to wait long. Gamlen was surprisingly forthcoming with the information.

“Let me say up front, I wasn’t expecting this. The Blight, your husband dead. I figured you’d pretty much be Fereldan for life.” He glanced at the other three over Leandra’s shoulder, taking in Bethany’s relieved smile, Kerilyn’s tense stance, Aveline’s blatant distrust. “I take it this is your brood? I thought you had a son in there somewhere, not just girls.”

Leandra drew away from Gamlen’s embrace to wrap her arms around herself. “Oh, Gamlen. We came too late. Carver and Marian... they didn’t make it. The darkspawn...”

At that, Gamlen reached up to rub his forehead with one hand, expression tight. “Oh, Maker save me, Leandra. Don’t drop this on me now. I don’t even know if I can help you get in.”

And that would be the news Kerilyn had been waiting for. Apparently, however, she was the only one. Leandra’s entire body slumped forward at the news and Bethany looked as though someone had just murdered her favorite puppy in front of her eyes. Aveline, though... Aveline did not look disappointed. Aveline looked _pissed off_. The look of utter loathing on her face had Kerilyn drawing back in fear, and it wasn’t even directed at her. She wasn’t sure how Gamlen was still standing in the face of it.

“What...what do you mean?”

Kerilyn hated the way Leandra’s voice cracked on the sentence, hated how scared and desperate it made her sound. _Soft hearted_ , Zevran had called her once. He had been right.

Gamlen wouldn’t meet Leandra’s eyes when he spoke, instead staring at a point somewhere several inches above her head. Kerilyn followed his line of sight, right to one of the weeping slave statues decorating the Gallows. Cheery. “I had hoped to grease some palms, but the Knight-Commander’s been cracking down. We’re gonna need more grease.”

“But what about the estate?” Leandra demanded, grasping desperately at the last bit of hope she had that this would end at all well. “Surely Father left something when he died.”

“Right. About the estate.” Gamlen’s eyes darted off to the right, then back to the grotesque statue that so enraptured him. “It’s...uh, gone. To settle a debt. I’ve been meaning to write to you.”

Kerilyn could tell when Leandra finished processing his words - the color drained from her face and her expression lost all trace of emotion. “Then there’s no hope.”

“I’m sorry, Leandra. I know some people who might have helped, but... well, that help doesn’t come for free. When I got your letter... let’s just say that the arrangements I made relied on you having a child who was _not_ an apostate.”

As each word caused Leandra to curl further and further in on herself, Kerilyn found herself considering something that she really, really shouldn’t be. But if it could help, if it could get Leandra and Bethany into the city...

“What arrangements?” If she was going to do something incredibly stupid, she at least wanted to know exactly what she was getting herself into. Gamlen, however, did not seem to appreciate her interruption.

“I don’t see what business it is of yours,” he snapped, glaring at her. “Who in the blazes are you, anyway?”

“Call me a friend of the family. Now, tell me what arrangements you made.” He tried to stare her down, meeting her gaze and holding it, but Kerilyn had stood her ground against an archdemon, had fought the Hero of the River Dane in single combat. One weaselly former-nobleman was so far from intimidating that she almost laughed. After no more than a few seconds of eye contact, he looked away.

“I talked to some of my contacts after I got Leandra’s letter, and I found some who might have been willing to pay their way into the city. The problem is that this help would come with a catch - someone would have to work off the debt. For a year.”

Kerilyn nodded, seeing the problem. “And there’s no way Bethany would be able to fill that role _and_ hide from the templars, not in this city.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth and chewed on it absently as she thought. Bethany apparently caught on to her train of thought, because she turned to stare at Kerilyn, mouth agape.

“You can’t seriously be considering-” but Kerilyn cut her off before she could finish the thought.

“Why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do with my time and it would get you and your mother into the city. Shades, it would get _me_ into the city, as well. I don’t think Gamlen’s contacts are going to be too picky about who they’re hiring, as long as I can do the job.”

“And you think you can?” Kerilyn bit back an undignified snort. Of course Aveline was against her plan. She didn’t trust Kerilyn to begin with. “You don’t even know what they’re asking for.”

She rolled her shoulders in an easy sort of shrug. “I can do it. The question is, will you allow it?” This last question was directed at Leandra, who had observed their exchange in silence.

“Allow - my dear, what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’m offering to take Gamlen up on his offer - entrance into the city for you, Bethany, Aveline and me in exchange for my services for one year. With one catch of my own.” She met Leandra’s eyes. This was the part that Leandra would object to, she knew that already. “I offer this of my own free will - if you accept, I want your agreement that you will _not_ be in my debt. I am not doing this to gain leverage over you or to coerce you into owing me something. I am offering this solely because I choose to, because I want to help. If you can’t agree to those terms, tell me now.”

The color and life began to flow back into Leandra’s face as she studied Kerilyn in disbelief. That reaction right there? That was why Kerilyn did stupid shit like this. To see that look of mingled gratitude and hope where there had been none. That was the only reward she wanted. She just prayed that Leandra let her do this for them.

But Leandra, it seemed, was sharper than Kerilyn had given her credit for. Instead of arguing, she tilted her head and regarded her with a cool stare. “You’re running from something, aren’t you? There is something in Ferelden you are trying to leave behind you.” Kerilyn nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. She had no idea where this conversation was going and that fact terrified her. Leandra smiled, gentle and unassuming. “I’m not going to ask from what - I don’t think that’s something I truly need to know. What I can do, however, is offer you the same security you are offering to us.”

Kerilyn froze, staring at Leandra with wide eyes. “Leandra, what are you-”

“Protection. A place, if you wish it. A history that no one will think to question. A name.”

“You’re inviting me into your family.” Kerilyn was proud of just how emotionless she kept her voice. With the whirlwind of emotions running through her right now - _disbelief hope desire fear gratitude concern_ \- she had not been not certain she could manage to keep them concealed. “You’ve only just met me and you’re offering me...everything.”

“Yes. I am not... I am not trying to replace Marian and Carver, and I don’t think you would even try. I want that to be clear now. But you are offering us a new life, free of debts and obligations and fear. I can offer you nothing less than the same. That is, should you wish it.” Leandra held out one hand, all dignity and poise and Kerilyn stared at her in stunned disbelief.

“Why?” she asked, her voice choked. She was losing the fight to remain stoic and unaffected, but she could not bring herself to care overmuch. “Why would you do that for me? I didn’t - I was going to help you anyway. You don’t need to do this.”

“That is exactly why I _want_ to do it. Because you didn’t ask. You are a rare kind of person, Keri of Ferelden. Isn’t that reason enough?”

At her side, Bethany giggled and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. “You’re not going to change her mind, you know. You should just accept the fact that she wants to help you - that _we_ want to help you - and move on. It will make things easier for all of us.”

Kerilyn twisted around to face Bethany, grey eyes wide. “You - you’re okay with this? This doesn’t bother you?”

“Oh, stop being so stupid, Keri. If this scheme of Gamlen’s goes through then this will be the second time you’ve saved my life with no thought or expectation of a reward. Of _course_ this doesn’t bother me.”

A pause as Kerilyn regarded both Leandra and Bethany in turn, searching their expression for any sign of hesitance or uncertainty. She found none. More than a little overwhelmed - in her experience, things like this didn’t just _happen_ , not to her - she nodded.

“I...Yes.” She reached out a shaking hand to clasp Leandra’s. “Yes, I do. I accept.” Leandra beamed.

“Be welcome with us, then, Keri Hawke.” Laughing, Bethany wrapped Kerilyn in a fierce hug.

“Thank you, Sister.”

_Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke_

_[17 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_

_I have, it is undeniable, really remarkable luck. From the moment Rendon Howe showed up in Highever the night my parents died my entire life has been a string of nigh-unbelievable coincidences and random occurrences. That_ just happens _to be the same night a Grey Warden shows up in search of recruits. We_ just happen _to show up at the Circle Tower right after Uldred launches his revolt. The night we arrive in Redcliffe_ just happens _to be the night of the largest undead attack to date. Honestly, it’s a little ridiculous. I’m still not certain if it is good luck or ill, but whatever it is, it seems to have held._

_My first sight of Kirkwall is not one I’ll forget anytime soon - giant bronze statues of weeping slaves set against the backdrop of a Tevinter prison-turned-Mage-Circle. I’m not sure that I’ve seen a more depressing sight in my entire life, and I took part in the Denerim siege. That was horrible, yes, but even it was lacking the pervasive sense of hopelessness that clings to Kirkwall like a shroud. A most auspicious introduction to the city, I must say._

_It didn’t take long after disembarking to learn that the Kirkwall guard - following templar orders, which is interesting and a little bit terrifying - wasn’t letting anyone into the city. I can’t say I’m all that surprised - even with the Blight over, nearly half the land in Ferelden is tainted. Nothing will grow for years. People are fleeing nearly as rapidly as they were during the Blight itself as they realize that their livelihoods are gone. Foreign cities are getting more Fereldan refugees than they can handle._

_Just as I was getting ready to give Kirkwall up as a bad job and head inland (sure, the roads are dangerous, but it isn’t like I’m helpless. I can handle a few bandit attacks...) that inexplicable luck of mine reared its head. Can I just say that I’ve never been more thankful for my remarkable memory for faces than I was when Bethany Hawke ran up to me there in the Gallows courtyard? I met her once over a year ago in Lothering, where Morrigan, Alistair and I (well, more Alistair and I than Morrigan but that’s hardly a surprise) saved her from templars. It was strange, talking with her - she knew me from before, but only as the woman who saved her life, not as a Hero or a Warden or a Cousland. Just Keri. We spoke for a short while - she introduced me to her mother Leandra (or should I say re-introduced? I had met her once before, brief thought that meeting was) and their companion Aveline, a quite frankly utterly terrifying woman - and this is coming from someone who stood toe-to-claw with the archdemon without a problem. Somewhere in the middle of all this her uncle - an unpleasant fellow named Gamlen - arrived. He bore with him a promise of entrance into Kirkwall, entrance that relied on Leandra’s non-apostate children working off the debt for the next year._

_Leliana accused me once of having what she called a “saving people thing.” She thought I was incapable of standing aside and doing nothing when someone was in trouble._

_She was right. All of ten seconds after Gamlen finished explaining I was already spinning plots and schemes in my head, concocting one of my most hare-brained schemes to date. And that’s saying something, considering the fact that I’m the one who thought taking on an archdemon would be a grand idea._

_But the thing is without Marian or Carver, Leandra and Bethany were doomed. They couldn’t get into the city on their own, they couldn’t afford to go anywhere else, and they couldn’t go back to Ferelden. I didn’t have the coin to get them in myself - righteous Grey Wardening never did pay very well - and I had no real plans beyond hiding from my reputation. So I offered to take the place of the missing Marian and Carver, to work for Gamlen’s contacts for a year in order to get the four of us - Leandra, Bethany, Aveline and me - into the city as new citizens. In return Leandra offered me what is possibly the single-most tempting thing in existence - security. She seemed to realize that I was running from something (don’t ask me how - if she were anyone else I’d suspect blood magic, the way it seems like she can read your mind...) and instead of demanding to know_ why _she offered me the Hawke name. Not to replace either Marian or Carver - neither of us would even try to do that - but as a layer of security, a pre-built history to throw off anyone who might think to connect a wayward Fereldan refugee with their missing Hero. She offered me exactly the same thing I offered her - a new life._

_Keri Hawke. I think I could get used to the way that sounds._

_Tomorrow we go to meet Gamlen’s “friends” - a mercenary captain and a smuggler. It should prove to be an interesting experience, at the very least._

_\- Kerilyn Cousland Hawke_


	3. "Dabbling on the Wrong Side of the Law"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from Kerilyn's first year in Kirkwall.

_Excerpts from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke  
  
[18 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
It’s a little uncomfortable how easily I seem to have fallen into the role of “big sister.” I’ve been a younger sister all my life and I was an aunt for seven years, but I’ve never been an older sister. And I can’t say I was expecting to step into that role with Bethany. When we were talking about the situation yesterday I had assumed that she and Leandra would treat me as they had been - a casual acquaintance that they seem to like. I hadn’t expected Leandra to all but adopt me or Bethany to latch onto me like she had known me her whole life. When I agreed to this idea yesterday I thought I was getting a way to conceal my identity from curious onlookers. I hadn’t thought I was being invited into a family.  
  
But as much as they’ve adopted me, I’ve adopted them right back. We met with both of Gamlen’s contacts this morning, Athenril the smuggler and Meeran’s mercenary gang the Red Iron, and I was all ready to sign up with Meeran when I caught him ogling Bethany. I think I actually _snarled_ at him as I put myself between them, and ten minutes later we finalized our deal with Athenril. I’ve never really had a problem with dabbling on the wrong side of the law (remnants, perhaps, of teenage rebellion?) and at least she seemed like she would keep her paws off of Bethany.  
  
And I’m well aware of the fact that Bethany is plenty old enough to take care of herself. That doesn’t mean she should have to. That is, as far as I’m aware, rather the point of having older siblings. At least, that’s how it always seemed when I was younger.  
  
Though the look on Aveline’s face when she learned who she would have to thank for her entry into Kirkwall was hilarious, all disappointed and frowny at the thought of being indebted to smugglers. I’d have laughed if she didn’t scare me so damn much. I really do need to work on that if I’m going to spend any amount of time with her...  
  
But we got in and Kirkwall proper is only slightly less depressing than my first impression led me to believe. Of course, that could have something to do with the living arrangements circumstances have forced us into: with no real source of income (it’s too dangerous for Bethany to have any sort of real job and I already agreed to work for free to pay off the debts we have already accrued) the three of us are staying with Gamlen for the foreseeable future. In a tiny little three-room shack in the bad part of Lowtown. Which is, admittedly, not all that much worse than the _good_ part of Lowtown.  
  
Lowtown, it turns out, makes the Denerim alienage look like a pleasant place to live. Everything is filthy and unsanitary and oh, Maker, the _smells_. I hadn’t thought anything could be worse than Oghren after a particularly gory battle, but Lowtown manages it effortlessly. I almost want to write him to share the news. Almost.  
  
But in all honesty it is hardly the worst place I’ve stayed. I already miss the creature comforts of the Commander’s quarters at Vigil’s Keep but next to camping in the Deep Roads, Gamlen’s hut is practically palatial. And besides, it’s only for a year. I’m sure we’ll all survive.  
  
What will be harder to get used to, I think, is my name. It seems that no one in this city is capable of using my first name (or at least the abbreviated version I’ve taken to using now that my full name is far too recognizable). Instead, Athenril and Meeran have referred to me without fail as “Hawke,” Leandra as “my dear” and Bethany as “Sister,” though that last is always said with a secret little smile. Just when I was beginning to get used to “Commander,” too...  
  
\- Kerilyn Cousland Hawke  
  
 _[19 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
I’m supposed to meet with Athenril tonight for my first job. I feel like I should be more concerned about this than I am, but after all the shit I dealt with during the Blight, a little bit of smuggling holds no terror for me.  
  
Speaking of terror-inducing things, Aveline joined the City Guard today. They probably conscripted her the moment she walked through the door. The woman’s entire demeanor just screams “mess with me and I’ll kick your ass!” I love it.  
  
Though I hope Athenril is as good at avoiding the guard as she claims she is. I don’t relish the idea of dealing with Aveline in any sort of professional capacity...  
  
\- Kerilyn Cousland Hawke  
  
 _[20 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
You know, when Athenril said she was involved in smuggling, I didn’t think she meant _mages_. Three of them, to be exact, newly apostate-ified (is that even a word? I’m not certain. If it isn’t, it should be.) and running for their lives.  
  
I am so glad we didn’t join the mercenaries...  
  
\- Kerilyn Cousland-Hawke  
  
 _[25 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Athenril’s not just smuggling mages, it turns out. I have never seen so much gold in one place in my entire life. Including the hoard of that High Dragon. Or the entirety of the Ferelden treasury, come to think of it...  
  
\- Kerilyn Cousland-Hawke  
  
 _[11 Cloudreach 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
In desperate need of a break. Tomwise promised to buy me a drink at the Hanged Man tonight. Haven’t had a chance to check the place out yet, so I might just take him up on that...  
  
\- Keri Cousland-Hawke  
  
 _[12 Cloudreach 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Note to self - Hanged Man ale is _deadly_. Woke up with the Maker’s own hangover and I don’t actually remember much of last night. Do remember a seemingly never-ending supply of alcohol, which is a terrifying prospect. For some reason, I also remember someone doing a table dance. Suspect it was Tomwise. If so, he is far more flexible than I ever gave him credit for. I didn’t think the elven body _bent_ that way.  
  
The tavern itself was exactly what I expected - dirt and grime and sweaty, unwashed patrons and air that stinks of piss and vomit. I love it.  
  
Also vaguely remember Aveline showing up at some point. That’s not a happy thought. I really hope I didn’t do anything _too_ stupid...  
  
\- Keri Cousland-Hawke  
  
 _[15 Cloudreach 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Aveline hasn’t spoken to me since the Hanged Man. I suspect I did something stupid. The keys to the barracks I found in my pocket the next morning support this theory.  
  
I wonder what I did. More to the point, I wonder why I wasn’t arrested for it.  
  
\- Keri Cousland-Hawke  
  
 _[2 Bloomingtide 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
More mages to smuggle out of the city. I think these are my favorite assignments. Fucking templars. Maybe if they’re too busy running around searching for these poor sods they’ll leave Bethany alone. One can only hope...  
  
\- Keri Hawke  
  
 _[10 Bloomingtide 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
A Qunari warship arrived today - washed up in a storm. Word on the street is that they’re led by the Arishok himself.  
  
Makes me wonder if Sten managed to return in time to answer his question.  
  
Maker, I miss the stoic bastard. I miss all of them, really. I even miss Wynne’s damned lectures.  
  
\- Keri Hawke  
 _  
[18 Bloomingtide 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
We defeated the archdemon a year ago today. People have spent the entire day celebrating: I haven’t left the house. I think Leandra’s starting to get concerned and I can’t say I blame her. Though it would be so much worse if I actually set foot outside today, what with all the celebrating and the stories being bandied around and Maker, it’s like they’ve all forgotten what it cost to get us that victory, the thousands of people who died to get Loghain and I up to that roof that night.  
  
The archdemon was killed, yes. We were victorious. But what of the price of that victory? I feel like I’m the only one who remembers that part of it, the only one who cares about the men and women who sacrificed their lives because I asked them to.  
  
Four Circle mages, twenty two dwarves, thirty one elves, and thirty nine knights of Redcliffe, all dead getting us to the archdemon. And that’s not even counting the hundreds of soldiers on the ground, holding the line against the invading horde.  
  
And Loghain, dead with his blade buried in the archdemon’s skull.  
  
And now they’re _celebrating_.  
  
Shades, but I hate this day. It makes me all introspective and emotional and that is never a good sign. I should end this now, before I get any more maudlin than I already am.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[28 Bloomingtide 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Tiberius chased Gamlen out of the house this morning. I have to remember to pick up a couple of bones from Corff on my way home. That kind of behavior deserves a reward.  
  
\- K.H.  
 _  
[10 Justinian 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
I found out today just how it was that Leandra, Bethany, and Aveline managed to escape Lothering when so many people didn’t. And I almost wish I still had no idea.  
  
Flemeth. _Flemeth_. Maker’s fuzzy blue _balls_ , but that woman gets around. And apparently has a bad habit of saving people’s lives. Suddenly I don’t feel nearly as special about that whole “tower-top rescue” thing.  
  
But seriously, they made a _deal_ with the _Witch of the Wilds_. Okay, I get the desperation there - Marian and Carver were dead and they were trapped like rats, but still. In what universe is that a good idea?  
  
Apparently Bethany agreed to deliver a necklace to a local Dalish clan (and since when are Dalish clans _local_ to anything? Shouldn’t they have moved on years ago?) in exchange for passage to Gwaren where they had intended to take ship. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth finding the time to trek all the way up to Sundermount to track down this Keeper just to keep a promise to a dead woman.  
  
At least, I think she’s dead. With someone like Flemeth, I suppose you never know, do you? Maker, that’s the last thing I need - a pissed-off dragon-lady with a grudge.  
  
Ah, well. I suppose it can’t hurt to give the damned necklace to the Keeper. At the very least it’ll make Bethany feel better...  
  
\- K.H.  
 _  
[15 Justinian 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Bethany’s birthday is next week. Eighteen. When I turned eighteen my parents threw a huge masque, inviting all the nobles in Ferelden. For some reason, I don’t think that’s what Bethany wants.  
  
I’m thinking drinks at the Hanged Man and a couple of magical texts. I think Athenril’s got a shipment coming though in the next few days - I should be able to snag a few without her caring.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[23 Justinian 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Drinks at Hanged Man were a _brilliant_ idea. Clearly, I am a genius. And a natural at this whole big sister thing. Bethany spent all morning mourning Carver - a get-together was just what she needed to get her mind off of things. And I think she relished the chance to get out of the house. At least I have Athenril’s jobs to occupy my time - she spends her days stuck in that shack with Gamlen. Poor kid. I need to make sure she gets out more, lest she go mad and fireball the place. Isn’t that a big sister’s job? I’m not entirely certain, but it sounds about right.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[21 Solace 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
I am awesome.  
  
That is all.  
  
\- K.H.  
 _  
[27 Solace 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
More mage-smuggling today. It’s a wonder there are any left in the Gallows at all with how many we’ve snuck out from under the templars’ noses.  
  
I love my job.  
  
\- K.H.  
 _  
[19 August 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
One of Athenril’s contacts double-crossed us today. When we got to the meet an entire squad of city guardsmen were waiting for us – the only reason we’re not spending the next few months in prison is pure dumb luck. Three months ago the guard wouldn’t have been any sort of a challenge. Aveline’s been a busy woman.  
  
I don’t know who turned us in but Athenril assures me she’ll take care of it. I’d pity the poor bastard if he hadn’t almost gotten me locked up. I’ve spent far too much time in a cell already – I’ve no interest in spending any more.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[17 Kingsway 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Six months down, six to go. I can almost see a light at the end of this tunnel.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[2 Harvestmere 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Bethany nearly got caught by a templar today. As if I needed more proof that she’s not safe.  
  
Something needs to be done.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[27 Harvestmere 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
It’s my birthday today. Twenty three.  
  
I haven’t told Bethany or Leandra. They’d try and make a big deal out of it. Athenril figured it out, though. Wish I knew how. That elf’s sharper than anyone gives her credit for, and that’s saying something. She didn’t make a fuss but did give me my pick of the latest weapon shipment: she does know how I like shiny things. I’m almost looking forward to the next time a job goes south – I can’t wait to see what kind of damage my new dagger can do...  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[15 Firstfall 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
I hate blood mages. Also, Athenril needs to be more careful when she’s accepting jobs, especially from the Circle. One of the mages we were sneaking out went all abomination on us – killed Mathus and nearly got me before we could bring him down.  
  
Fucking mages.  
  
I think that was the first time since I came to Kirkwall that I found myself wishing Alistair was here. I could have used a templar’s tricks tonight.  
  
\- K.H.  
 _  
[13 Haring 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Nine months down, three to go.  
  
I don’t really know what I’m going to do with myself once I leave Athenril. I can’t stick around, not if I want to keep my self-respect. I can’t spend the rest of my life working with smugglers. But how else am I supposed to make sure Bethany stays safe? We need a way to keep the templars away from her, and Athenril does that. Once I leave her employ... I’m terrified of what might happen to her.  
  
Ah, well. I have a while yet to figure something out. Bethany will be fine.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[7 Wintermarch 9:33 Dragon]_  
  
Andraste’s ass, Gamlen is a bastard. I can’t wait until we’re rid of him.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[28 Wintermarch 9:33 Dragon]_  
  
Rumors have been buzzing around the grungier bits of the city that a new healer has taken up practice in Darktown, treating refugees and beggars without asking for payment. I’m tempted to go check it out – if he’s for real, then maybe I can get him to let Bethany lend a hand a few times a week. The girl’s been itching to get out of the house and if this guy’s an actual healer, well, I don’t think we’d have to worry about him turning her over to the templars.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[30 Wintermarch 9:33 Dragon]_  
  
Scratch that last idea. Tomwise says templars have been all over Darktown in search of this healer. I’m not letting Bethany anywhere near that mess, not if I can help it.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[19 Guardian 9:33 Dragon]_  
  
Note to self: whisky bad. Stick to ale. One of these days I’ll learn to stop taking Tomwise up on offers of drinks. They never end well for anyone involved.  
  
Oh, Maker, my head...  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[8 Drakonis 9:33 Dragon]_  
  
One week left in my tenure with Athenril. I’m still not really sure what I’m going to do once that’s over – Athenril has been making noises about keeping me on as more of a freelance operative, but I can’t see myself settling down into the smuggling lifestyle.  
  
The idea of freedom has made Bethany a little bit manic. I’m not sure why – even after I leave Athenril it’ll be a while before we can afford to move out of Gamlen’s shack. Though that is one convincing reason to stick around with Athenril for a bit. Guaranteed source of income means we can get out of here all the faster.  
  
Leandra, too, has been acting a little odd recently. Instead of Bethany’s growing giddiness she just seems to get more and more worried as time wears on. I mean, she’s a quiet woman at the best of times but she’s withdrawn into herself even more than usual. I can’t really blame her for her concern, either – the further-reaching consequences of leaving Athenril’s service haven’t escaped me, even if Bethany hasn’t quite cottoned on just yet. Athenril’s protection has been acting as a safety net of sorts, keeping Bethany away from the templars’ notice. Once this year is over that goes away and she’s as vulnerable as any other apostate in Kirkwall.  
  
I don’t care what it takes, what I have to do. The templars will _not_ have her. I’ll make sure of it.  
  
\- K.H.  
  
 _[16 Drakonis 9:32 Dragon]_  
  
Took my leave of Athenril this morning – our first year in Kirkwall is over and I’m a free agent once more. Which means that Bethany is in danger once more, as well.  
  
Is it normal to spend this much time worrying about someone else? I’m so used to being responsible for people who are more than capable of taking care of themselves, people who made the decision to put themselves in danger. Bethany, while an excellent mage, was never meant to be a fugitive. She never asked for this kind of life.  
  
I am beginning to think that gold is the only thing that will keep Bethany safe – enough gold to make the templars turn a blind eye to her continued freedom. One of my former colleagues in Athenril’s gang mentioned a dwarf preparing an expedition to the Deep Roads in search of riches. Maker knows how much I hate the Deep Roads, but if it’s a choice between spending a few weeks there or Bethany spending the rest of her life in the Circle or worse, Tranquil, I’ll take the Deep Roads.  
  
I’ll track down the dwarf tomorrow.  
  
\- K.H.


	4. "Some Definition of Practical"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rather disastrous meeting with Bartrand Tethras, Keri searches for another way to keep her sister safe. With an appearance by everyone's favorite savant enchanter.

After her less-than-pleasant experiences dabbling in Orzammar politics during the Blight, Keri - then still Warden Kerilyn Cousland - had come to the conclusion that dwarves were far more trouble than they were worth. Meeting Bartrand Tethras had done nothing but reinforce that opinion. Maker, but he was insufferable.  
  
“If you’re going into the Deep Roads, you need to hire the best,” she snapped at the dwarf before her, using every trick she knew to keep her voice level. “That’s us.” She did not hold out much hope that this would change Bartrand’s mind - if none of her other arguments had swayed him, unsupported boasts of competence certainly wouldn’t. Still, she had to try. Bethany’s freedom depended on it.  
  
“Andraste’s tits, human! You know how many people want to hire onto this expedition? I’m not about to take any chances hiring random humans.”  
  
Keri grit her teeth against the dozens of responses she wanted to give the stubborn bastard. Over the last year she had gotten better about avoiding statements that would reveal more about her past than she desired, better at fitting into the role she now played. This, though...it would be so easy to change his mind, so easy to ensure her place on this expedition. Two words - _Grey Warden_ \- and she would be set. Bartrand would not argue, would make any arrangements necessary to get her to come along. After all, who would turn down the chance to have a Grey Warden along on a trip to the Deep Roads? Her ability to sense the darkspawn alone would be more than worth the cost of hiring her; add to that her years of experience fighting the creatures and her presence was invaluable.  
  
But with Bethany at her side and a family, as bizarre as it was, waiting for her back in Lowtown, that wasn’t an option. She would need another way to convince Serah Hard-ass to hire her.  
  
“But we’re random humans who have actually fought darkspawn before.” That much at least she could say without fear. She had, after all, already admitted to fighting in the Battle of Ostagar. “How many of your little hirelings can say the same?”  
  
Bartrand seemed unmoved by the logic of her statement. Blasted dwarven thickheadedness.  
  
“Forget it, human,” he said, arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping out an off-tempo beat on the ground. He could not have appeared less interested in the conversation if he tried, which Keri suspected was rather the point. “You’re looking for a quick way out of the slums, right? You and every other Fereldan in this dump. Find another meal ticket.” Without waiting for the next in Keri’s line of increasingly-ineffective arguments, he turned and stalked away to go shout at some unfortunate worker as he pointedly ignored the two women standing in his wake.  
  
“Damn it!” Keri snarled the moment he was out of earshot, spinning on her heel to swing a leather-clad fist at the stone wall beside her. It had no real effect beyond hurting her hand but it was the idea that counted here. “Of all the insufferable, cock-sure, bull-headed-”  
  
As Keri trailed off into a string of nigh-incomprehensible insults Bethany hovered by her side, arms wrapped around her torso. “What are we supposed to do now?” she asked, voice soft and broken and Keri’s anger fled in favor of - or at the very least got pushed aside by - a wave of concern. “We’ve got nothing to stop the next person who tries to sell us out. This expedition was our last chance...”  
  
“Don’t worry, Bethany. I haven’t give up just yet.” She offered a distracted smile as she ushered her adopted sister out of the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild and back toward Hightown proper. She weighed her options as they walked. As far as she could determine, they were severely limited in their choices now that Bartrand had turned them down. Every day they stalled was another day that Bethany was at risk from the templars, another day closer to losing her to the prison of the Circle Tower. Sitting around waiting for the inevitable wasn’t an option, which meant that Keri was going to have to find a way to protect her. Whether that was through coin or status or some other method entirely didn’t matter, as long as Bethany was safe. The expedition had been their opportunity to gather enough coin to distract the templars, an opportunity that was now off the table. Which left status. Which left Keri in the exact situation she had been praying to avoid since Athenril’s contract had come to a close. Because there was one sure-fire way to protect Bethany, one way that guaranteed that she could shoot off fireballs in the middle of the marketplace and no one would touch her. And all it would cost was Keri’s anonymity.  
  
No one would dare harm the Hero of Ferelden’s little sister.  
  
So distracted was she by the turmoil within that she did not even notice the approach of the redheaded street-thief that at any other time would have set off her internal alarms in moments. Instead it took the kid careening into her and sprinting off in the opposite direction before she even noticed the attempted lift of her purse. If Zevran had been there he would never have let her live it down. She spun around to give chase, an outraged cry on her lips, but the sound of a crossbow firing stopped her in her tracks. Seemingly out of nowhere - all right, fine, from somewhere just beyond her line of sight - a bolt flew through the air to pin the would-be thief to the wall by his shirt. It was a nearly-impossible shot, hitting cloth but drawing no blood, and the shooter had pulled it off perfectly. Keri had never seen anything like it despite travelling with Leliana for more than a year. Intrigued, she scanned the people milling around the courtyard in search of the shooter.   
  
It took her almost no time at all to identify him - a beardless dwarf holding the largest crossbow she had seen in her entire life strode across the courtyard to where his hapless victim scrabbled at the crossbow bolt dangerously close to his shoulder. She was too far away to hear what he said, but he held out one hand and the kid passed her purse over without a single protest. The dwarf said something else to his captive before shooting him a cocky grin and... punching him in the face. Huh. Well, that’s one way to deal with pickpockets, she supposed. The dwarf reached up to pry his crossbow bolt loose from the wall and the kid’s shirt and said kid took the opportunity to flee before he lost more than just his dignity. Twirling the recovered bolt between thick fingers, the dwarf strolled up to where Keri and Bethany were hovering at the edge of the courtyard, staring. He tossed Keri’s purse back to her and grinned, easy and confident.  
  
“How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service!” With another casual grin he tucked his bolt back into his quiver. Smooth as he was, it was his last name that caught Keri’s attention more than anything else she had seen or heard. Tethras. A relation of Bartrand’s, perhaps? So why was he talking to her? Bartrand had shut her down hard: she couldn’t see him changing his mind now. Before she could question it, Varric continued speaking.  
  
“I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw.”  
  
So Bartrand _hadn’t_ changed his mind and Varric was... what the blazes _was_ Varric doing? “But you would?” she demanded. This was apparently the right thing to say, as it drew an amused wink from Varric.  
  
“I would! What my brother doesn’t realize is that we need someone like you.”  
  
“What, a pair of penniless refugees looking for...what was it? Oh, yes, ‘a quick way out of the slums’? Your brother didn’t seem overly impressed with our qualifications.”  
  
Varric rolled his eyes. “Well, of course he’d never _admit_ it - he’s too proud. I, however, am quite practical.”  
  
For some definition of “practical,” Keri supposed. The kind that did not preclude ostentatious crossbows and elaborately-embroidered outfits. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m listening.” She might have her doubts as to his ability to follow through, but if there was even the possibility that Varric could get them onto the expedition Keri was willing to at least hear him out. After all, it couldn’t hurt, could it?  
  
“Excellent. Here’s the thing - we don’t need another hireling. We need a partner.” He shrugged, all feigned nonchalance. He was good, Keri had to give him that, but she had been taught by the best. This Varric Tethras, skilled though he was, was no bard. She saw the tightness around his mouth, the tension in his stance. He was concerned. About what, she couldn’t tell. But she had an idea. “The truth is, Bartrand’s been tearing his beard out trying to fund this on his own, but he can’t do it. Invest in the expedition. Fifty sovereigns and he can’t refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you.”  
  
Keri frowned, studying him. There was something more to this scheme of his, there had to be. No one with that much coin to spare would be looking for guard-work, and Varric was smart enough to realize this. He had to know they didn’t have anything even close to that amount of coin. What was he thinking? When she asked as much, he just laughed.  
  
“You need to think big, Hawke.” Even after a year of constant use, Keri still had to remind herself that he was talking to _her_ when he used that name. For all that she had grown accustomed - perhaps even complacently so - to being _a_ Hawke, she was not quite used to being _the_ Hawke. “There’s only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won’t be crawling with Darkspawn. The treasure we find down there could set you and your family up for life.”  
  
And Keri could hardly argue with that. Both times she had ventured into the Deep Roads she had accidentally uncovered items of incalculable worth - the Anvil of the Void (the fact that she destroyed it shortly thereafter did nothing to negate the fact that it _was_ incredibly valuable) and the entirety of the lost Cadash Thaig. If that’s what could be found on _accident_ , imagine the kind of wealth that they could find when they were actually looking for it.  
  
And all it would cost is fifty sovereigns and another trip to the Deep Roads.  
  
On second thought, maybe this _wasn’t_ such a good idea.  
  
She turned to glance at Bethany to see what her adopted sister thought of all this. She was the reason they were contemplating this at all; she deserved a say in the process. Bethany shrugged.  
  
“It won’t be easy, but it’s a chance. I think we have to take it. Better to work our way into this expedition than sit around waiting to be thrown in the Gallows.”  
  
Well, damn. That settled it, then. If Bethany wanted to do this, this was what they were going to do. Keri was self-aware enough to realize that she wasn’t going to go against Bethany’s wishes, even when the result was weeks of soul-rending darkness and darkspawn.  
  
Balls.  
  
“We work together, you and I, and before you know it you’ll have all the capital you need.” Varric shot her an encouraging grin. “What do you say?”   
  
Keri sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine. You two win. We’ll do it your way.”  
  
Varric clapped his hands together, chuckling. “Perfect! Kirkwall’s crawling with work. You set aside some coin for every job and you’ll have the money in no time!”  
  
“Yes, brilliant, I’m sure.” Keri tugged a hand through her hair, pulling strands loose from their thick braid. “It can never be easy, can it?” she muttered under her breath, too low for Varric or Bethany to hear. “Drink this blood, light this beacon, build this army, kill this archdemon, govern these lands, kill this broodmother, and now raise this coin. Maker.” Louder, she asked, “So, any idea where we should start our search?”  
  
Surprisingly, it was Bethany who answered, not Varric.  
  
“We could try asking Aveline - maybe she could find us some work. I’m sure the city guard could use an extra set of hands.”  
  
Well, it was far from the worst idea they could have had. If nothing else it gave them somewhere to start. Even if it did involve meeting with Aveline again. Because no day was complete without a healthy dose of suspicious guardswoman.  
  
“And I know everyone in this city worth knowing,” Varric added, not even a hint of self-consciousness in his expression. “If there’s work to be had in Kirkwall, I’ll find it for you. Between you, me and Bianca, we should be able to handle anything we can drum up.”  
  
“I...Bianca?” Keri had missed something, she was sure of it. Who in the blazes was Bianca? But Varric gestured at the crossbow slung across his back, and that just raised a whole new set of questions that Keri wasn’t entirely certain she wanted answered. “Fair enough, then. Shall we head to the barracks, then? We’re overdue for a visit to our favorite guardswoman, anyway. She’s probably missing us something terrible.”   
  
“And I’ll-” Varric’s gaze was drawn to something going on behind Keri’s back. Something that, from the sounds of it, involved a lot of yelling and very little thought. “Maker. Apparently I’ll be off playing professional younger brother, at least for the moment. When you get a chance, come see me at the Hanged Man, will you? Tomorrow, maybe? I’ve got a room there and there are some things we need to discuss somewhere with a little more privacy than here.” With a quick wave farewell Varric stalked off toward the disturbance, yelling all the way. “Damn it, Bartrand! We’ve talked about this...”  
  
“Interesting guy,” Keri murmured, just loud enough for Bethany to catch. Her sister giggled.  
  
“Indeed. What do you think of him?”  
  
Keri started walking away from the Merchant’s Guild as she considered the question, Bethany at her side. “I think he’s a little _too_ smooth, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s playing us false. That might just be the kind of person he is. But I also think that we don’t have much of a choice if we want in on this expedition.” Which she was still uncertain about, but there was no need to tell Bethany that part. “We’ve got to trust him, at least a little. If it turns out that we can’t, well...” she shrugged. “Then we’ve lost a few days searching for a better solution to our little templar problem. Hardly the end of the world. What about you?”  
  
“I like him. I don’t know if I _trust_ him, but I do like him. And like you said, we don’t have much choice. I don’t want to end up in the Gallows because we stood around instead of looking for a way to avoid it.”  
  
Keri nodded, glancing around them. Her eyes flicked back toward where Varric was standing and arguing with Bartrand when something else caught her gaze. Something damnably familiar. She knew those dwarves. Andraste’s pert little _ass_.  
  
“Bethany? Do me a favor and go on without me, would you? Head home and let Leandra know where things stand as of right now - we’ll postpone talking to Aveline until after we meet with Varric tomorrow morning.” Normally she would avoid having Bethany go anywhere alone - templar-induced paranoia had become something of a way of life this past year - but right now she couldn’t see that she had much of a choice. She needed to have a conversation that Bethany could not be around for. Letting her walk home alone seemed the lesser of the two evils. She just hoped Leandra would forgive her.  
  
Bethany stopped walking and turned to face Keri, thin worry lines forming across her forehead. “What’s wrong, Sister?” she asked, voice pitched low enough that it would not carry. But Keri just shook her head - this wasn’t something she could explain, not really. Not without explaining _everything_ , and that was not an option.  
  
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just...humor me. Please?”  
  
The lines did not fade and the look in Bethany’s eyes told her in no uncertain terms that they would be discussing this later, but then Keri had expected that. But Bethany nodded and started to walk away, which was what was important. As soon as her sister was out of sight Keri stepped back into the shadow of one of the giant dwarven statues that lined the Merchant’s Guild courtyard, using the cover they provided to slip across to the other side of the courtyard where two dwarves peddled their myriad wares. A smirk crept across Keri’s face as she contemplated the very best way to announce her presence. But really, there was only one thing she could possibly do. She kept her voice soft enough that only the dwarf nearest her would be able to hear her and called out to him.  
  
“Enchantment?”  
  
At the sound of his catchphrase, Sandal turned toward her with a broad smile. His eyes unerringly sought her out, even wrapped in shadow as she was. The boy would never stop surprising her, would he?  
  
“Enchantment!” he greeted, clapping his hands together in glee. The action drew his father’s attention from the fraternal argument going on across the way.  
  
“What’s that, my boy?” Bodahn scanned the area where Keri was hiding, gaze skipping over her entirely. Keri had to bite back a pleased chuckle - she loved it when that happened. It gave her a visceral sort of thrill every time she successfully slipped beneath someone’s notice, every time she stayed just out of sight of prying eyes.  
  
But this was not the time to play games with the poor dwarf. With just a hint of the amusement she felt playing around her lips, she moved forward until she was more readily visible.  
  
“Hello, Bodahn,” she murmured, watching with quiet delight as a look of shock overtook Bodahn’s features. “Fancy meeting you here.”  
  
“Warden!” Bodahn cried before Keri had a chance to stop him. “A pleasure to see you again. A surprise, make no mistake, but a pleasure!”  
  
Keri glanced around the courtyard, but Bodahn’s exclamation seemed to have passed unnoticed. Thank the Maker.  
  
“Do you have a moment, Bodahn?” she asked, leaning against a giant stone leg. “I’d like to speak with you about something.”  
  
“But of course! Anything for you, Warden.”  
  
The title elicited an instinctive wince from Keri. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk about. I’m sure by now you’ve heard about my rather sudden disappearance?”  
  
Bodahn nodded, expression grave. “Indeed. I wasn’t going to mention it, of course - that would be quite rude. Though now that you’ve brought it up I will admit to some curiosity. Even the King himself seemed baffled by it. I thought if anyone would know where you were it would be him, seeing as how close the two of you are.”  
  
The wince from earlier had nothing on the deep, full-body flinch Bodahn received in response to that particular comment. Nearly two years later and Alistair was still a touchy subject.  
  
“Yes, well, running away would hardly be effective if I went and told everyone where I was going, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“You’re in hiding?” The tone of Bodahn’s voice implied that the very idea had never even occurred to him. “From what, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”  
  
Keri shrugged, imbuing the gesture with a degree of nonchalance that she did not actually possess. “Oh, you know,” she said as though that explained everything. It explained nothing and she was well aware of the fact, but that was hardly the point. “Anyway. I just came over to ask if you would be willing to help me keep my history a secret. I’m building a life here and I don’t want it connected to the Hero of Ferelden, and you’re the only people around with the ability to connect Keri Hawke with Kerilyn Cousland.”  
  
“But of course, messere!” Bodahn agreed, eyes wide and expression earnest. Keri let out a sigh of relief. She trusted Bodahn enough to take him at his word - he was a bit of an odd fellow but once you earned his loyalty it was yours for life. And Keri liked to think that she had managed to win that loyalty somewhere in between fireside chats and darkspawn incursions. He would keep her secret.  
  
“Thank you, Bodahn.” She grinned at him, all easy good humor once more. “And call me Hawke, would you? I’m no one’s ‘messere.’”  
  
With that she faded back into the shadows, the sound of Bodahn’s chuckle echoing in her ears.  
  
Mission accomplished. Time to head home.  
  
 _Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke  
  
[17 Drakonis 9:33 Dragon]  
  
Bartrand Tethras is an ass.  
  
It is possible that I am a bit biased on this matter, but still. The biggest ass this side of the Waking Sea. It kind of makes me wonder what his reaction would have been had I approached him as Warden-Commander Kerilyn Cousland rather than Keri Hawke. When he sees Keri Hawke, he sees another upstart Fereldan refugee who happened to make a bit of a name for herself with a small smuggling cartel. It’s no wonder he didn’t believe our claims of superiority. I probably wouldn’t have, either. But if I had introduced myself as Kerilyn Cousland I wouldn’t have _had _to claim anything. I wouldn’t have gotten the chance. Only an idiot would pass up the opportunity to bring a former Commander of the Grey on a Deep Roads expedition. And Bartrand might be (Bartrand_ is _) an ass, but he doesn’t strike me as stupid.  
  
Luckily, before I had a chance to drive myself insane trying to choose between my identity and my adopted sister’s safety (the fact that it wasn’t even a real question, that Bethany would always win, was irrelevant – a pre-established outcome did not mean I couldn’t have a panic attack first) Bartrand’s younger brother approached us with an offer of his own.  
  
His name is Varric and his idea is this: if we can raise enough coin to become partners for the expedition rather than hirelings, Bartrand won’t be able to say no. It won’t be easy – fifty sovereigns is no paltry sum – but it would guarantee us a spot on the expedition. It would also, though Varric was hardly crass enough to point this out, earn us a larger share of the profits than hiring on as guards would. And we’ll need all the coin we can get if we want to keep the templars away. Bethany seemed far more enthusiastic about this idea than I was, but then again she has never been to the Deep Roads, has no idea what lies in store for us on this expedition. And that’s assuming that we even make it that far - I think both she and Varric overestimate how easy it will be to raise fifty sovereigns doing odd jobs. It’s not as though many Kirkwall residents can afford to pay well for anything. But even I cannot deny that this is our best hope of keeping her safe. And that is worth putting forth the effort. That is worth anything.  
  
Even the Deep Roads.  
  
Varric himself seems like an interesting enough dwarf, though it’s quite possible that he is attempting to single-handedly thwart every dwarven stereotype in existence. He doesn’t even have a beard. (At least, not on his face. His _chest _, on the other hand...) It’s beyond surreal. Though that is probably why I like him so much. He is easygoing but with a core of steel, a self-professed “professional younger brother,” and seems appreciative enough of sarcasm that spending too much time around him shouldn’t be a chore. Even if he does have an unhealthy attachment to his crossbow. To be fair, it_ is _an exceptional piece of craftsmanship. And it’s not like I’ve never named my weapons. But still. There’s a line, and I’m pretty sure he crossed it a long time ago.  
  
Anyway, Bethany and I are meeting him tomorrow morning to hammer out details. At least, I assume that is what we’re doing - he just asked us to meet him at his room at the Hanged Man. Where he apparently lives. How does one go about affording a permanent, private room in a tavern? That seems phenomenally expensive and he’s having trouble funding an expedition?  
  
That got a little bit more off-topic than I had intended. After we took our leave of Varric (fine, after Varric abandoned us to go start a shouting match with his brother) I stumbled - almost literally - across another familiar face - Bodahn Feddic and his son Sandal. I still don’t know what they’re doing in Kirkwall and to be frank I don’t really care. They’ll keep my secrets, which is enough for me. It will be nice having Sandal around to enchant things again. Assuming, that is, that we can _afford _to have things enchanted. Rune stones aren’t exactly cheap and we’re supposed to be saving coin.  
  
I got sidetracked on my way home after speaking with Bodahn by a man claiming to sell samples of Andraste’s ashes. I _told _Genetivi that running his mouth about the damn Urn would cause more trouble than it was worth. Damned charlatans are everywhere ever since he published that book. Idiot. On the up side, I did get a few coin from a guard for chasing them off. All right, I chased_ some _of them off. The rest fought back. It’s funny how little sympathy I have for people who prey on the hopes of others. I’m just glad I got a chance to change before Bethany or Leandra saw the blood all over my armor. I worry them enough as it is without adding anything else...  
  
Anyway. It looks like tomorrow’s schedule involves meeting with Varric in the morning and then checking up with Aveline as soon as we’re done there. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her and Bethany thinks she might have a job for us to do. We’ve got a lot of coin to gather - might as well start now.  
  
I think I just heard Gamlen get home. I should go play mediator before there’s bloodshed. The sooner I get Bethany and Leandra out of this house, the better.  
  
\- K.H._


	5. "The Definition of Family"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamlen and Leandra fight and Keri is drawn into the middle of it all despite her best efforts to the contrary.

By the time Keri tucked her journal away (well-hidden from Gamlen’s prying eyes) and made it into the main room of the house, she was too late to head off the latest installment of the Gamlen versus Leandra familial drama. From what Keri could gather from where she stood at the outskirts of the conversation, someone had made the fatal mistake of mentioning their situation, a touchy subject for Gamlen and Leandra both, though for different reasons.  
  
“My children have been in servitude - _servitude_ for a year. They should be nobility,” Leandra was saying as Keri moved up to stand beside Bethany, bumping her shoulder against her sister’s in silent sympathy.  
  
“If wishes were poppy, we’d all be dreaming.” Gamlen snorted, bitter and amused all at once. “Besides, I don’t see why you’re so upset about it - it’s not _your_ daughter who’s been working off your debt, is it? You and your daughter have been sitting pretty here while someone else does your dirty work.” He rolled his eyes. “Typical.”  
  
Keri sighed as his words struck home, causing Leandra to flinch back. Somehow it all came back to that. Every single Maker-be-damned time, he had to bring that up. She couldn’t figure out how Leandra had managed to refrain from smacking him for so long.  
  
“Could we _not_ bring me into this?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “Please? Only, it kind of makes Bethany and I uncomfortable when you two fight like this.” At her side, Bethany nodded her agreement. “Can we just...leave it be? Just this once?”  
  
Gamlen’s angry glare shifted away from Leandra to focus on Bethany, lips twisted into a sneer. Acting on instinct, Keri altered her stance so that she stood between them, just in case.  
  
“Your mother was _supposed_ to marry the Comte de Launcet. Instead she ran off with some Fereldan apostate.” He spat the last word as though even the act of saying it made him feel dirty. Which was almost laughable, considering the source. Bethany drew away from his vitriol, shoulders hunched inward. Gamlen’s hatred of mages was nothing new but that did not stop Bethany from taking his words a little too much to heart. “You don’t get to stay the favorite when you do that.”  
  
But Leandra wasn’t having any of that. Her hands balled into fists at her side and her face set into a stubborn frown, she reached out to physically draw Gamlen’s attention back to her.  
  
“Where is Father’s will? If I could just see for myself-”  
  
“It’s not here, all right?” Gamlen interrupted before she could finish speaking. “It was read; it went in the vault. No one needed to look at it again.”  
  
And this was going to get very bad very fast if Keri didn’t do something. The last year had given her a good idea of just how far these arguments could go before someone said something they would regret later. Or at least, she assumed Gamlen regretted it when he crossed a line. She had never thought to ask him and it wasn’t as though his demeanor changed at all afterward. So maybe it was just how far they could go before _Leandra_ regretted it. Either way, her job was the same. She needed to derail this. Now.  
  
“Where is the vault?” she asked, voice still gentle, coaxing. “We can go get the will so that Leandra can see it and we can put an end to all this bickering.”  
  
She thought it was a reasonable idea. She really did. Apparently Gamlen did not agree. He rolled his eyes and shot her a contemptuous glare.  
  
“It’s in the Amell vault, locked up within the Amell Estate. And that’s long out of my hands.”   
  
Which...made no sense, at least to Keri. Gamlen had to have known that he was going to lose the estate - he would have had time to at the very least clear out the family vault. Void, when Howe’s men had attacked Castle Cousland, Keri and her mother had still managed to raid their family vault. Why would Gamlen just leave it all there to rot?  
  
Bethany seemed to have the same question.  
  
“You didn’t take your parents’ will?”   
  
Gamlen scoffed. “It was old news. You think I’ve been sitting here for twenty five years waiting for Leandra to slink back?”  
  
And that answered exactly none of Keri’s questions.  
  
“But, if it was in the vault, shouldn’t that have been the first thing you cleared out when you sold the estate? Unless you sold the estate _and_ everything in it all at once, I suppose, but I can’t imagine anyone would be stupid enough to...” She trailed off at the look of fury on Gamlen’s face. “Oh. Well. That is...”  
  
Thankfully, Leandra saved her from digging herself into a hole from which she would never escape.  
  
“Who bought the estate, Gamlen? Perhaps I could speak to them. Was it the Reinhardts?”  
  
“No one you know,” Gamlen shot back, bristling. “Get used to Lowtown, Sister. That’s where we’re going to stay.”  
  
Apparently that ended the conversation, at least as far as Gamlen was concerned. Without another word he turned and stomped out the front door, heading out into Lowtown. Probably on his way to the Blooming Rose, Keri thought, then immediately regretted it. There was a mental image she did _not_ need to have. Shaking her head to clear it, she turned to face Bethany and Leandra.  
  
“Well, that’s where _he’s_ going to stay, at least.” She shot them her best encouraging-smile. “But I’ve got plans for us.”  
  
Leandra shook her head but she was smiling slightly, which was a definite improvement. “Somehow, my dear, I am not at all surprised. You always seem to have a plan for everything.” She chuckled.  
  
“That, or I’m just really good at improvising,” Keri agreed with a grin. When this received no response, she sobered. “Look, Leandra. What he said, about me. You know I don’t regret it, right? That I haven’t once regretted offering to help you? That as far as I’m concerned you and Bethany are family?”  
  
“Oh, darling, I know. I’ve known for a while now. After seeing how much you do for us, how carefully you guard Bethany’s safety, how could I not? And you know that as far as I am concerned you could be no more my daughter had I given birth to you myself. You are a Hawke, my dear, and don’t you ever think otherwise.” She reached out to wrap an arm around Keri’s shoulders, squeezing her in a sideways hug. “It’s just... He is so _insufferable_. Every time he opens his mouth I find myself wanting to _hit_ him.”  
  
Keri laughed, easy and open and pleased. “Oh, don’t we all. But if I might make a suggestion, oh mother-mine? Go get some rest. You look exhausted.”  
  
“Always so polite, our Keri.” Leandra shook her head and released Keri’s shoulder. After a brief farewell she disappeared through the doorway of the room she shared with Gamlen. Keri watched her go, fond smile on her lips.  
  
“It’s a bit ridiculous how much I adore that woman,” she muttered, drawing a soft laugh from Bethany.  
  
“It’s not surprising - Mother tends to have that effect on people. How do you think we stayed hidden from the templars in Ferelden? It certainly wasn’t Father’s doing - he would have had the templars on our doorstep before the week was out if he had been left to his own devices.” She trailed off, staring blankly into the fire, lost in thought. Concerned, Keri nudged her in the shoulder.  
  
“I know that look. What’s bothering you, Bethany?”  
  
Bethany sighed, scuffing the toe of her boot on the dirt floor.  
  
“I’m not sure. It’s only... Maker, I hope I’m wrong, but did Uncle Gamlen seen a little slippery when he talked about Grandfather’s will?” Before Keri had done more than open her mouth to respond, Bethany rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m asking you this - you don’t trust _anyone_ , especially Gamlen.”  
  
Which...fair enough, really. Keri wasn’t exactly known for taking people at their word, but she had been working with thieves and smugglers for the last year - was it really her fault that she had learned to be a bit suspicious?  
  
She chose to ignore the fact that this was hardly a new development and that the habit began long ago, atop a Tevinter tower, watching an entire army turn and walk away. Bethany didn’t know that so it didn’t count.  
  
She’d worry about how that made no sense later.  
  
“You’re asking me because you want me to help assuage what you see as your own overblown paranoia,” she said with a shrug, as though it were obvious. Bethany made a face, nose wrinkled and upper lip curled.  
  
“Right. _Anyway_. If Uncle Gamlen, say, ‘invested’ money that was meant to be Mother’s, do you think he would tell us?”  
  
Keri considered it for a moment, head tilted to one side. Her immediate reaction was to throw out a snippy, sarcastic remark - “oh, nonsense; a fine, upstanding citizen like Gamlen?” - but for Bethany to question family... it had to be serious. She deserved a real answer.  
  
“I think that if Gamlen thought he could get away with something like that he would do it in a heartbeat.” She offered Bethany a sympathetic little half-smile. “And I can’t see that he had any reason to believe that he _couldn’t_.”  
  
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Bethany said with a heavy sigh. “I had hoped I was imagining things, but between that and Mother’s recent fit of melancholy... Did you know she told me she wishes she had died with Marian and Carver?” Her voice broke on those last words and Keri let out a harsh swear before pulling her sister into a fierce hug. It was a little awkward - Bethany was a good three inches taller than Keri - but it was something she obviously needed. As she held her sister’s trembling form, Keri roundly cursed Leandra for her thoughtlessness. Maker knew she loved the woman beyond reason, saw her as the kind of maternal figure she had not had in her life since her own mother had died (despite Wynne’s best attempts at filling that void), but every once in a very great while Leandra did something like this, something so blindingly selfish that Keri had to acknowledge the kinship between her and Gamlen.  
  
With that one sentence she had as good as told Bethany that she was not enough for her, that she alone was not worth surviving for. That her dead children meant more to her than her living one did. For someone like Bethany who already felt like a burden on her family due to her magic, a comment like that would be devastating.  
  
Keri resolutely did _not_ think about her own mother, choosing to die with her husband rather than live for her daughter. That was an old wound, one long-since scabbed over even if it would never properly heal. It was Bethany’s hurt that mattered now, not Keri’s.  
  
“Oh, Beths,” she murmured, one hand reaching up to pet her sister’s hair. “I’m so sorry.” Which helped not at all, but then was there anything that _would_ at this point? What do you say in a situation like this?  
  
“It’s like coming here ruined every good memory of her childhood,” Bethany whispered, voice muffled from where her mouth was pressed against Keri’s hair. “I just want to get some of it back.”  
  
At her words Keri tightened her hold on Bethany, resisting the urge to shake her head in disbelief. Even now, instead of dwelling on her own hurt Bethany focused on how to make things better for everyone else. _Maker_.  
  
“You sound like you already have an idea rattling around in that head of yours. What are you thinking?”  
  
Bethany drew away from Keri and began to pace across the tiny room. Ten steps, turn, ten steps, turn, over and over until Keri began to get dizzy just watching her.  
  
“I was talking to Gamlen earlier. He told me that he gave the estate as payment to some slaver who beat him at dice.”  
  
Keri nodded without interrupting - that coincided with everything she knew about Gamlen. Though the slaver thing was new, admittedly. “Apparently our ancestral home is now a base for slavers from all over Thedas.” And Bethany could not have sounded more distressed by that fact if she had tried. Keri began to see the vague outlines of Bethany’s idea, and if they could pull it off... Bethany paused in her pacing to look up at Keri, contemplative. “Those scum have no right to my family’s things. I think we should break in there and get the will for Mother. And if we happen to get rid of some slavers, well...” She shrugged and Keri had to chuckle - it seemed she was becoming a terrible influence on her sister. At the start of their time in Kirkwall Keri would have bet good coin that Bethany would never suggest anything illegal. Anything that might draw templar attention. She was almost proud.  
  
Then Bethany outlined the rest of her plan - sneaking in the cellar entrance using Leandra’s old key, neatly avoiding any guards - and Keri had to amend that thought. She _was_ proud. After taking a moment to consider the plan, she cocked her head at Bethany.  
  
“Well, from what I can see we’ve got two options. We’ll have to go at night, obviously, otherwise who knows what we could find in that place. But we could go tonight just the two of us and hope we don’t run into any trouble we can’t handle. Or we could wait until tomorrow night after we’ve spoken to Aveline and Varric and see if we can’t get them to come along.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “I’ll admit, though, that I’m not certain asking Aveline to come with us is the best idea. This whole endeavor _is_ pretty illegal and she’s a bit of a stickler for that whole ‘rules’ thing.”  
  
Bethany nodded. “That’s true. And Varric... well, this is a family matter. I don’t think we should involve anyone we don’t have to.”  
  
Keri shot her sister a grin, a feral expression with more teeth than absolutely necessary. “My thoughts exactly. Go get your staff, little sister. We do this now.”


	6. "Breaking and Entering"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keri and Bethany break into the Amell estate. Their foray is not as peaceful as they might have wished.

Darktown was as unpleasant a place as Keri remembered. More often than not Athenril’s jobs involved someone trekking through the Undercity for one reason or another and a disproportionate number of those jobs found their way into Keri’s hands. Maker, she would not miss those.  
  
Except now she found herself picking her way through the muck and filth that gave Darktown its singular atmosphere for reasons that had nothing to do with Athenril and everything to do with the mage trudging along in the dark beside her.  
  
“Did Leandra tell you where this cellar entrance of hers is or are we supposed to run around sticking that key into all the locks in Darktown in the hopes that one of them matches?” One of her boots squelched in the mud beneath their feet - at least, Keri hoped it was mud. She didn’t want to think too hard about what else it could be. “Because I’ll tell you now, that’s going to take a while.”  
  
Bethany shook her head, the flickering torches that provided the only light this far underground throwing her normally soft features into sharp relief. Keri almost didn’t recognize her adopted sister in the woman waking next to her. “She didn’t say, only that there was a passage that led from the estate’s cellars into Darktown. Apparently she used to use it to sneak out to meet Father.” She glanced around at the refuse surrounding them, lip curled in revulsion. “I hope she brought a change of shoes when she did, though.” A sigh. “I didn’t expect that finding the entrance would be such a challenge.”  
  
Of course. Because Keri’s life could never be easy. She closed her eyes and focused on the mental map of Kirkwall she had built up over the last year. They had come into Darktown via the lift at the south-eastern edge of the docks and had been walking in a vaguely north-easterly direction for the last ten minutes which meant that, to the best of her knowledge, they were somewhere near the Hightown market. Keeping that in mind she did a few quick estimations before pointing to a passage heading off to their left.  
  
“That should take us further into Hightown proper. At least, I think so. It’s also possible that I’m leading us around in circles and we’ll never find what we’re looking for.”  
  
Bethany snorted at that, taking the initiative and walking down the path Keri had indicated. “Well, we’re not going to find out standing around here. Let’s get moving.”  
  
The passage twisted in on itself and dead-ended more than once, but eventually they found themselves deposited in an open area that Keri vaguely recognized from working with Athenril. She put a hand out to stop Bethany from continuing forward.  
  
“I know where we are,” she said when Bethany turned to face her. “The keep’s courtyard is right above us, which means...” Here she paused to pivot slowly in place, scanning the area. From what she could recall the Amell estate sat just northwest of the keep’s courtyard. The cellar entrance should be nearby. Her gaze skimmed over the pair of heavy double doors lit by the bright, steady glow of a lantern, past the tunnel burrowing deeper beneath the city, until -  
  
“There!” she cried, pointing to a rickety wooden ladder leading up to what looked like a trapdoor. “Five sovereigns says that’s our entrance.”  
  
Bethany chuckled, hanging back as Keri moved to inspect the ladder. She was suddenly very glad she had left Tiberius back at Gamlen’s. Even ignoring the illogic of bringing a mabari hound on a stealth mission, there was no way she could have gotten him up the ladder into the estate. “You don’t _have_ five sovereigns, Sister.”  
  
“Details, details.” Keri flapped a dismissive hand in Bethany’s general direction. “Looks fairly sturdy, at least. Shouldn’t collapse beneath us. There’s a lock at the top, though. Hand me the key?”  
  
“’Shouldn’t collapse beneath us’? That’s reassuring,” muttered Bethany as she tossed Keri her mother’s key. Keri pulled herself up the ladder, testing each rung before putting any weight on it. Just because it _looked_ sturdy didn’t mean it wouldn’t fall to pieces the moment she touched it. But the wood held fast and within a few seconds she had reached the locked trapdoor. The key, contrary to all her expectations, actually fit and she twisted the lock open without any resistance. Which was probably a bad sign, come to think of it - how likely was it that a lock that had been left alone for twenty five years would show no signs of rust? She dropped the key back down to where Bethany was waiting at the foot of the ladder, along with a whispered warning.  
  
“Be careful when we get up there. It may not be as deserted as we thought.”  
  
“Of course it isn’t,” Bethany said with a sigh. “Because why would it be easy?”  
  
Keri muffled her laugh with one hand and pushed open the trapdoor, catching it before it hit the floor and made any noise to give away their presence. When no sound emerged from the room above she poked the top of her head through the entrance, just enough to see over the edge.  
  
She breathed out a sigh of relief. Nothing. Grabbing onto the edges of the trapdoor with both hands she levered herself through the hole in the floor and climbed out.  
  
“We’re clear,” she called down to Bethany in a loud whisper. Just because she hadn’t seen anyone yet didn’t mean there wasn’t someone lurking just out of sight. Better to at least attempt something approaching stealth. Unfortunately with Bethany along “approaching stealth” was about all she could expect. Her sister was not exactly designed for sneaking around.  
  
Case in point - Bethany’s ascent up the ladder was accompanied by a series of creaks and groans from the wood and murmured exhalations from the girl. Once she finally made her laborious way to the top, she glared at Keri. “How did you do that so silently?” she demanded, brushing dirt and broken bits of wood from her clothes. “I felt like I was making the Maker’s own racket climbing that thing, but you did it effortlessly.”  
  
And what was Keri supposed to say to that? “When your teachers are an Antivan Crow and an Orlesian bard, you learn fast”?  
  
“Practice,” she said instead as she studied the empty little room the had reached. It looked like an old, unused storage room of some sort - a handful of wooden crates and barrels full of something unidentifiable were shoved up against a wall, all covered in a thick layer of dust. Her and Bethany’s footsteps had marred the otherwise solid sheet of dust on the floor and nowhere was there a sign of any presence but theirs. “If you had spent a little less time learning to toss fire around and a little more learning how to move you would be able to do the same thing.” She stopped to consider what she had just said and frowned. “Well, maybe you couldn’t. You’re kind of a clumsy oaf, you know.”  
  
Bethany scoffed but as Keri had expected could not refute the claim. At least not truthfully. The first time Keri had taken her to an empty field outside Kirkwall’s boundaries and handed her a battlemage’s staff (nicked from one of Athenril’s shipments as payment for a job gone horribly wrong) her sister had smacked her in the face while testing it out. Keri had intended the excursion as a way to see what Bethany was capable of when she was out from under the templars’ noses: what she got was an object lesson in the dangers of fighting beside untrained mages. Bethany’s fireballs would have made Wynne weep in admiration, but stick a staff in her hand and she was as much as liability as she was an asset.  
  
Needless to say Keri had refused to accept that state of affairs and after almost a year of careful tutelage Bethany had reached the point where Keri had absolutely no qualms about taking on a den of slavers with just her sister for backup.  
  
That did nothing to negate the fact that outside of battle Bethany had an unfortunate habit of tripping over her own feet and bumping into posts and doorways with distressing regularity. Now that it no longer endangered their lives, Keri found it hysterical. Bethany, on the other hand, did not.  
  
They made their way deeper into the bowels of the estate without trouble, seeing no signs that the building was inhabited at all. Maybe they were in the wrong place after all. But then Leandra’s key had opened the lock, so this was obviously where they wanted to be. Could the slavers have abandoned the estate without their knowledge? It was certainly possible but Keri’s life was never that easy.  
  
Then they pushed forward into a room far larger than any they had passed through before and Keri realized that yes, the slavers were still very much present and no, they did not take kindly to trespassing. Three guards rushed her the moment she stepped through the door, none of them taking notice of the mage at her back. Oh, but she loved it when that happened. The only thing better than an ally who could rain fire from the sky was an ally who could rain fire from the sky onto enemies who hadn’t even seen it coming.  
  
“Ice,” she murmured to Bethany as she danced away from the first guard’s initial assault, “not fire - one stray spark and this whole place’ll go up.”  
  
Bethany did not respond in words but shot a wave of ice out over the top of Keri’s head, freezing two of the guards in place as Keri’s dagger sliced through the throat of the third. She flipped both her weapons in her hands and drove the pommels into the skulls of the immobilized guards, shattering them into a fine red mess.  
  
She was just glad the ice meant that there was no blood spattering everywhere. That always got so... messy.  
  
Laughing in sheer blood-thirsty delight - Andraste’s frilly pink _panties_ but she loved fighting, loved the heady rush of adrenaline that accompanied even tiny little skirmishes like these (and Weisshaupt had wanted to put her behind a _desk_? Fools, the lot of them.) - she twirled around to face Bethany, to share in her exaltation.  
  
But Bethany was staring at the little flesh-chunks that had once been human (though Keri used the term with some trepidation - she had a difficult time convincing herself of the humanity of anyone who dealt in slaves) with a kind of mute horror and Keri had to bite back a curse. She had forgotten that her sister was, for all intents and purposes, a civilian, that she had likely never used her magic to harm anything more humanoid than a hurlock. Shit. She moved to Bethany’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.  
  
“How are you holding up, Beths?” she asked, consciously tamping down the adrenaline-fueled giddiness of moments before. That wasn’t what Bethany needed right now. She needed stability, soft understanding. Not proof that the woman she had come to call sister was a little more twisted than she let on. Or at least that’s what Keri assumed.  
  
She was wrong. At the sound of her voice Bethany shook herself out of her stupor and pressed her lips into a thin line. She met Keri’s eyes and nodded once, sharp and decisive before wiping her hand on her skirt.  
  
“I’m fine,” she said and Keri almost believed her. She wasn’t unaffected, not by a long shot - Keri would have been worried if she had been - but she would manage. She was a tough girl. Keri had almost forgotten that.  
  
“Right. Come on, then.”  
  
At first glance the next room was more of the same - a few easily dispatched guards. But as Keri brought them down with a few precise strikes of her blades she heard Bethany yelp in surprise behind her. Before the last of the bodies had hit the ground Keri was moving again, turning to see what Bethany needed.  
  
Another guard had come out of nowhere to attack Bethany’s unguarded flank while Keri, the only one of the two with any real close-combat ability, was distracted by his associates. No, not a guard - his clothes were too expensive-looking and a glance at his belt revealed tiny throwing daggers and flasks that Keri recognized as the exploding flasks Zevran had once spent an entire evening teaching her to make. An assassin, then, most likely. Andraste have mercy. It was a minor miracle that Bethany was still alive at all, a fact that Keri refused to think about too carefully. If she dwelt on every close call or near miss her friends had with death she would be reduced to a gibbering wreck and then nothing would ever get accomplished. Instead she used the assassin’s distraction to launch herself at his back, shoving her sword underneath his ribcage and her dagger into his lower back, right into his left kidney. So what if it was generally considered dishonorable to attack from behind? He was an assassin - she doubted he would complain about her breach of honor. Besides, the bastard had attacked her little sister: he deserved everything he got.  
  
“Did he hit you?” Keri asked, scanning Bethany for any sign of injury.  
  
Bethany shook her head. “Nothing serious. Just a scratch. See?” She held up her arm to reveal a gash through the sleeve of her shirt, edges tinted a deep red with her blood, underneath which Keri could just pick out the thin white line that marked a new, magically-healed wound. She let out a sigh of relief and lifted an eyebrow at Bethany.  
  
“You know, a _real_ healer wouldn’t have left a mark,” she teased, blithely ignoring the fact that only two of the many mages she had met possessed that particular ability.  
  
She snickered at her choice of words. “Possessed,” indeed. She wondered whether Wynne would have been as skilled a healer if she had not had her Fade spirit helping her along. It was an interesting question, one Keri would ask if she had any intention (or, in all honesty, desire) to see the healer again. She respected Wynne greatly; that did not mean she had to like her all that much.  
  
Well, that wasn’t entirely true - she liked her well enough, they just had very different ideas on how Keri should live her life and Keri had never been very good at being told what to do. Even ignoring her unasked-for commentary on Keri’s relationship with Alistair (and later Zevran, though that particular conversation was much shorter than its predecessor - Wynne had hardly gotten through saying the assassin’s name before Keri had silently turned and walked away...), Wynne had what Keri considered the same idealistic, wildly inaccurate view of the Grey Wardens that Alistair did - that they were heroes, white knights who would swoop down on their shining griffons to save the day. But Keri knew better. She knew that there was a reason they weren’t called the White Wardens; she knew that the purpose of the Wardens was to defeat the darkspawn using any means necessary, that sometimes that meant making choices that weren’t morally right, choices that normal people would never approve of.  
  
Choices like sparing the life of the man who had destroyed everything you held dear. Choices like thrusting your lover into his worst nightmare, forcing him onto the throne of an entire nation because it was the only way to ensure that you had the support you needed. Choices like letting a man destroy his very soul rather than allowing the preservation of that of an Old God. Choices like the ones Keri had spent the last two years convincing herself she did not regret.  
  
Keri shook her head furiously, forcing herself back to the present. This was neither the time nor the place for distractions, and maudlin ruminations on the past could hardly be considered anything but. She looked up toward Bethany who watched her with something approaching concern on her face. Eager to stave off the probing questions she knew would soon follow, she flashed her what she knew from experience was an insufferably cocky grin and wandered off to explore.  
  
Two doors branched off the room they were in, one to the west (at least, she thought it was west; she never had been able to develop what Oghren called her “stone sense” with any reliability) and one to the south. Either one could lead them closer to the vault and lacking any more effective method of determining which they wanted Keri just picked one at random.  
  
Bethany trailed her as she opened the southern door, keeping an eye out for any more guards.  
  
But the adjoining room was empty of guards and more importantly of any other exits. Not the way forward, then, and Keri nearly turned right back around when she caught sight of a family crest hanging on one of the walls, two stylized red eagles rearing on a black background. She didn’t recognize it off-hand - her upbringing ensured that given a Ferelden noble’s insignia she could identify it in moments but beyond the borders of her homeland she knew next to nothing of the nobility - but considering the slavers who now owned the estate were unlikely to have a crest of their own she felt safe in assuming that this was the Amell crest. Instead of leaving as she had intended she made her way farther into the room, gesturing Bethany in with her. At her sister’s confused frown, Keri gestured toward the hanging crest. Bethany’s sharp gasp confirmed her guess.  
  
“The Amell crest,” she breathed, sounding awed and just a little bit wistful. “Mother described it to me, but this is the first time I’ve seen it. Wouldn’t it feel like something to live in a house with this above the door? Can you even imagine it?”  
  
Keri didn’t have to imagine it, though the crest in her mind’s eye was grey to Bethany’s black, laurel wreaths to her eagles rampant. It was home and comfort and family but it was also blood and death and treachery.  
  
She left Bethany to her contemplation and wandered off to explore the rest of the room, desperate for anything to distract her from images of high stone walls and fluttering banners. A chest tucked against the wall caught her eye - beneath the layer of dust it was obviously well-made, all green finish and gold gilding - and she knelt before it. It was locked, but the contraption was old and flimsy to begin with - Keri didn’t even need to pull out her lock-picks to get it open: all she had to do was give it a good tug and the lock popped open in her hand. At that point why even bother locking it? She flipped open the lid and peered inside, drawing back in surprise as a familiar face stared up at her. As she examined the object - a small portrait, tiny enough to slip into a belt-purse without trouble - she smothered a triumphant grin. Oh, she knew what to do with this.  
  
“Hey, Beths!” she called, dragging her sister’s attention from the crest that had so enraptured her. At Bethany’s curious head tilt, she pulled the portrait out of the chest and handed it over. “What do you make of this?”  
  
Bethany gasped as she took the offering, the tips of her fingers tracing the contours of her mother’s painted face. “Is this... Is this Mother’s betrothal portrait? From when she was supposed to marry the Comte?” She studied the painting in her hands. “It is - look, you can see her ring!” Keri smiled as she saw the awe-struck look on her sister’s face, the almost disbelieving way she stared at the portrait.  
  
“Tuck it away, then,” she advised and Bethany snapped her head up to transfer her stare over to Keri. “What, you’d rather leave it here for the slavers? Take it with you.”  
  
Bethany sucked in a startled breath. “Really? I mean, yes, I should. Oh, Maker, look at her. She looks so...so happy.” Another fond brush of her fingers over the paint. “My whole life Mother’s always looked so sad and worried. All because of my magic. It’s nice to have a reminder of a time when she still knew how to smile. Thank you, Keri.”  
  
As if she needed any more evidence of how much the portrait meant to Bethany, the use of her name would have done it. Keri could count on one hand the number of times in the last year that Bethany had called her by name.  
  
“Any time, love. Now come on, let’s keep moving. The vault can’t be that much further in.”  
  
They trekked back into the adjoining room and down the passage Keri had bypassed earlier. When they reached the next room the door was already open and Keri could see someone moving a few yards in, but she was too far away to make out details. She gestured for Bethany to stay put and stepped further into the shadows before slipping into the room for a better look. From here she could easily make out the three men loitering around the room, two guards and...Maker’s breath, another assassin. Naturally. Because everyone knew assassins traveled in packs.  
  
She gave the room one last glance and froze. Sitting innocently in the middle of the room where it would be nearly impossible to miss stepping on was a thin raised outline - Keri would bet good coin that it was the pressure plate to a trap. A trap she couldn’t disarm without revealing her presence to the assassin. Oh, _balls_. With a silent snarl she ducked back toward the hall where Bethany was waiting, drawing her sister back toward the room they had already cleared. As soon as they were far enough away that Keri was confident the guards would be unable to hear them, she explained the situation to Bethany in a low whisper.  
  
“I need to disarm that trap before we do anything else - it looks like it releases a gas which means that even if the guards trip it we’ll suffer the consequences.” She gave Bethany a flat stare. “Do you think you could freeze all three of them before they cross over the trap? If not, tell me now and I’ll figure out something else.”  
  
Bethany shook her head. “I don’t...it sounds like they’re too far apart for me to hit them all with one spell. And even then there’s a chance that it would miss one of them or they’d get lucky and dodge. It’s not going to work.”  
  
And Keri couldn’t say she was all that surprised. Still, it had been worth asking. “All right, then. I’ve got an idea, but you’ve got to stay back here, all right? Hopefully I won’t be long.”  
  
“Wait, Sister-!”  
  
But Keri did not stay to hear Bethany’s arguments (and she knew she would argue - it was not in Bethany’s nature to let other people take the risks while she stood back and did nothing) and she slipped back up to the doorway. Still wrapped in shadows and all but invisible to the three men inside, she picked up a splintered-off piece of wood from the ground and lobbed it through the air. It drew the assassin and guards’ attention, yes, but it also landed squarely in the middle of the trap, sending a cloud of greenish gas hissing into the room. Poisonous, Keri thought, and breathed out a sigh of relief. She had been worried that it would be something annoying but small - choking gas or something designed to stun rather than kill, in which case her entire plan was shot. But the men began to choke and she grabbed the handle of the door and slammed it shut, driving her sword deep into the wood to hold it in place. It would keep the guards inside, but it would do little to stop the gas from escaping so Keri dashed back down to where Bethany was waiting, pulling her sister along until they reached an empty room. As soon as Keri deemed them far enough away and came to a stop, Bethany whirled to face her, scowling.  
  
“What did you just do?” she demanded, arms crossed in front of her chest. Keri grinned up at her and threw herself down to lounge against a pile of crates on the floor. They were going to have to wait for the gas to dissipate now - she might as well get comfortable for it.  
  
“I triggered the trap then locked the guards in the room filled with poison gas,” she replied easily, perhaps a little too pleased with herself. Bethany seemed unable to choose between horrified and impressed; as a result her face twisted up into this hilarious little scrunched-up mess, her forehead wrinkled and lips pursed. Keri bit back a giggle and Bethany sighed.  
  
“Maker. What am I going to do with you?” she asked, carefully lowering herself to sit beside Keri. The contrast between her rigid good posture and Keri’s sprawl made Keri smile - no one looking at the two of them would realize that Keri was the one who had been raised as a noble and Bethany the one raised on the road.  
  
So maybe there were some things about her home life that she didn’t miss all that much. Etiquette and carriage lessons were two of them.  
  
“How long do we have to wait before it’s safe to go out?” Bethany asked after a few moments of silence. Keri shrugged.  
  
“Impossible to say for certain. I’ll go check here in a little while to see how fast it’s disappearing.”  
  
“And how are you going to do that?” Bethany asked, frowning. “Didn’t you just say that the gas was poisonous?”  
  
“Not instantly. And I’ll be able to smell it long before I’ve inhaled enough of it for it to even make me a little nauseous. There’s a reason I locked those guards in there with it instead of just assuming they’d keel over after a few moments of exposure, you know.”  
  
Bethany’s disapproving frowny face appeared again and Keri made a mental note not to bring up her disposal of their unfortunate friends again - she shouldn’t have done it the first time, if she were going to be honest with herself. Bethany wasn’t the kind of person to take anyone’s death with equanimity, even if those killed would have done their level best to destroy her if given the opportunity.  
  
It was a luxury Keri had given up a long time ago. There was no reason to force her sister to do the same. So she changed the subject, distracting Bethany with questions about her thoughts on Varric and Bartrand and the expedition, anything to keep her mind off the men dying twenty yards away. After what seemed a reasonably long period of time (there was no way to accurately judge the passage of time down here - Keri had thoughtlessly neglected to bring a waterclock along on their foray into breaking and entering) Keri levered herself off her makeshift chair and gestured for Bethany to wait where she was. She made her way back down the hall and, with more effort than she had expected to require, pried her sword from the door. Freed from its makeshift lock the door swung inward and Keri surveyed the scene within. She could detect no trace of poison gas either through sight or scent so she set about clearing the bodies from the center of the room. There was no reason for Bethany to have to deal with them, after all. The work took a few minutes - the assassin in particular was heavier than he looked and trying to drag him through a nearby doorway had her huffing and puffing in short order. She prayed that she had been right when she had assumed the gas was gone, otherwise she would be joining the corpses on the floor before too much longer.  
  
When she had made the place as presentable as necessary, Keri called back to where Bethany was waiting for her, summoning her sister forward. Bethany stopped at the threshold of the room and looked around hesitantly, as though worried about what she would find. Suddenly Keri was imminently grateful that she had thought to move the bodies out of Bethany’s line of sight. At least this way she was not forced to confront the consequences of Keri’s actions.  
  
Together they passed through the now-gas-free room and pushed open the door to the next, freezing as they saw what was inside.  
  
“Oh, _shades_ ,” Keri swore as the mage advanced toward them, growling something about Gamlen that she really was not at all interested in paying attention to. Though she thought she heard the mage call him a fool, which she couldn’t help but agree with. And then she looked down.  
  
Suddenly she felt like she needed a much, much stronger swear word. ”Shades” just wasn’t cutting it anymore.  
  
“Trap,” she called to Bethany as she lunged forward, dodging around the pressure plates in the center of the room and zeroing in on the mage. “Stay back toward the door or you’ll trigger it.” She thrust her blades at the mage but came up against a solid wall of force keeping her away from him.  
  
“Guards!” Bethany’s shouted warning had Keri spinning on her heel, leaving the mage to his own devices while she took on the nearest of the three guards who had just entered the room. He wouldn’t be able to do anything without taking that blasted barrier down first and she wasn’t leaving Bethany to handle three guards on her own.  
  
Though from the looks of things, she needn’t have worried. Bethany had one guard frozen solid and the other two flying away from her with a well-aimed wave of force. Keri took out the frozen guard with a pommel to the head, sending little bits of minced human falling to the ground before leaping across to where one of the guards had yet to get up from where Bethany’s mental blast had tossed him. She slit his throat without even pausing and started to advance on the final guard when Bethany’s cry of pain distracted her.  
  
The mage had released his hold on his protective field and launched a spell at Bethany - judging by the blackened cloth at her shoulder, a lightning bolt. Keri snarled - _no one_ touched her sister and got away with it - as she threw herself at the mage, blades flashing in the torchlight. “You’ve got the guard,” she snapped out to Bethany as her blades met the wood of the mage’s staff with a dull thunk. The mage held out hand out toward her, mouthing words she could not make out and Keri recognized the beginnings of a frost spell only moments before shards of ice flew out of the mage’s outstretched fingers. She ducked out of the way of the worst of the blast but the hair at the very top of her head got coated in a fine layer of frost. It was cold, obviously, but not damaging to anything except her pride. As the mage prepared his next spell Keri took advantage of his distraction to thrust both blades at his torso, her sword through his chest and her dagger across his throat. As soon as he fell she spun around to check on Bethany.  
  
Who had apparently gotten over her problems with killing the slavers - the last of the guards lay in a pile at her feet, his body frozen and his head caved in. Content in her sister’s safety Keri pulled her blades out of the mage’s body and wiped them clean on his robes before sheathing them as she walked over to where Bethany stood.  
  
“How badly did he get you?” She asked and Bethany winced.  
  
“Badly enough.” She rubbed the heel of her hand against the burn mark on her shoulder. “I’ll survive, it just hurt.”  
  
“Do you need to turn back?” They were nearing their goal - Keri could see a flight of stairs on the other side of the room - but if Bethany was truly injured beyond her ability to heal then she would not hesitate to return to Gamlen’s. After all, it was just a will. But Bethany shook her head, mouth set, and Keri did not press the issue. The faster they found the will the faster she could get Bethany home where it was safe.  
  
At the top of the stairs was a locked door that Keri could not open, no matter how deftly she manipulated her lock-picks or how solidly she kicked the damned thing when the lock-picks failed and irritation took over. Maker, she hated magical locks.  
  
“Wait here for a second,” she ordered Bethany. She had a feeling she knew where she could find the key they needed and Bethany did not need to see her go pawing through the pockets of a blood-soaked dead man. But she did manage to find a key in one of his many pockets, so at least it wasn’t a pointless molestation of a corpse. Now she just had to hope that it was the right key.  
  
It was. Keri breathed out a sigh of relief as the door swung inward to reveal a hallway that was distinctly _not_ a part of the cellars they had been trudging through. It seemed they had reached the estate proper at long last.  
  
“Which way?” she asked Bethany, voice a whisper. No need to attract the attention of yet more guards - if they could get out of here without any more bloodshed Keri would be thankful.  
  
“Left, I think. If Mother’s directions were accurate the vault should be just down this hall.”  
  
They padded their way past elaborate chests and tapestries, turned a corner, and found themselves quite abruptly dumped into what could only be the Amell family vault.  
  
“Here it is,” Bethany breathed, staring around them with wide eyes. Keri didn’t waste time admiring the scenery and headed straight for the chests against the far wall. The first had only a few odds and ends of no real value to anyone - she had no idea what they were doing in the family vault in the first place - but the second turned up what they had been looking for. A roll of papers tied with a black ribbon, sealed with the symbol of Viscount Dumar. The Amells’ will. She passed it over to Bethany without a word and took another look at the contests of the chest, searching for anything that looked like it might be a family heirloom or other treasure. While they were here they might as well see if they could salvage anything of Leandra’s past. But all she could turn up was a pouch of coins - granted it was a fair amount and would work beautifully as the foundation of their Deep Roads collection, but it was not what she had been hoping for.  
  
“Sister...” Bethany’s voice held a note of awe as she looked up from studying the will in her hands. “We need to get this to Mother right away.”  
  
 _Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke:  
[18 Drakonis 9:33 Dragon]  
  
Bethany and I wiped out an entire estate’s worth of slavers today. It was, as King Cailan would have said, glorious. Though I suppose I should explain what we were doing in an estate full of slavers to begin with, shouldn’t I?  
  
Leandra and Gamlen were having another one of their arguments (if they were anyone else I would call them fights, but the mental image of Leandra getting into an actual fight is outrageous so I’ll stick with arguments...) and it seems that Bethany had finally had enough. As soon as Gamlen had gone off to do...whatever it is he does after arguing with his sister and Leandra had gone to bed, she pulled me aside and asked me to help her reclaim her grandfather’s will from the Amell family vault. She hoped it would help bring Leandra a measure of peace, as well as reveal Gamlen as the lying bastard he is.  
  
And oh, did it. But I’ll get to that in a moment.  
  
The estate was full of slavers but that really didn’t seem like much of a problem for Bethany and I. She has become quite deadly when necessary and the day I have a problem fighting a bunch of hired guards is the day I hang up my sword and start...I don’t know, knitting. Or something equally quiet and insipid. So we made short work of the slaving bastards and broke into the Amell vault where we found - in addition to coin to start our expedition fund - the late Amell lord’s will.  
  
This is where things get really interesting. You see, when Gamlen sold the estate to pay off his debts? He was selling something that didn’t belong to him. Leandra’s father left the entire estate to her, not Gamlen.  
  
She’s being surprisingly calm about the whole thing (well, maybe not surprisingly - this is Leandra, after all) and intends to petition to the viscount for the rights to the estate. If all goes well she and Bethany can get out from under Gamlen’s roof by the time I get back from the Deep Roads. Between the two, there’s no way the templars will come anywhere near Bethany. She’ll be safe. Well, as safe as possible in this Maker-forsaken city.  
  
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this situation with Gamlen. On the one hand, he’s clearly in the wrong here. He spent money that didn’t belong to him, and in the most inane, incompetent manner imaginable - I mean, Qunari cheeses? Seriously? - but on the other hand, what was he supposed to do? I hate him for putting Leandra and Bethany in this situation but I pity him just as much. Which would probably bother him more than the hatred, if I’m going to be honest here. It’s just... Leandra was obviously the favored child in their family and Gamlen would never be able to measure up no matter what he did. I can’t even imagine it; my parents and I had our disagreements, sure - for one thing, Mother disapproved of my fighting lessons right up to the moment Rendon Howe’s men attacked and they were the only reason I survived the assault - but I never once doubted that they loved me every bit as much as they did Fergus. What would it be like, growing up knowing that you would always be second-best in your parents’ eyes, always being compared to your sister and always found wanting? What would that do to a person?  
  
Apparently turn them into a selfish, cold-hearted bastard, if Gamlen is any representation. But then, I can’t even bring myself to blame him entirely.  
  
Or maybe I’m just making excuses for him. Bah.  
  
But that is quite enough of that particular line of thought.  
  
Bethany surprised me tonight. Not her magic abilities - I have always known that she was quite a formidable mage. No, what shocked me was how well she handled the deaths of the slavers we fought. Sure, she had a moment of panic right at the beginning but I had just shattered two men before her eyes - even an experienced warrior would have been taken aback at the sight. I certainly was the first time it happened. We all were. I don’t think any of us had even realized it was possible until the moment Alistair’s shield crashed into a frozen hurlock and sent chunks of iced darkspawn flying across the battlefield. It was...startling, to say the least.  
  
But after that Bethany bore everything with a degree of composure I had not expected. If anything I am concerned about the ease with which she has accepted death. I was forced into a life where such things were commonplace; Bethany should not have to be. But there was no way I would have been able to leave her behind tonight - finding this will was as much for her as it was for Leandra and it would not have been the same had she not helped recover it herself. But still, I wish I could have found a way to keep her from experiencing all of that. A way to keep her from having to take another person’s life.  
  
I wish I could have protected her better.  
  
\- K.H._


	7. "For Want of a Warden"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A business discussion with Varric leads to some very unpleasant realizations for Keri

Keri and Bethany both slept in far later than they had intended the next morning, though that was far from a surprise. It had been well past midnight when they finally made it back from the Amell estate and several hours after that before they managed to get to bed. But Keri could not bring herself to regret the daylight hours they had wasted in sleep, not after seeing the look on Leandra’s face the night before as she realized that her parents had forgiven her long ago. So maybe she would have to deal with appearing lazy and unprofessional in front of their new business partner; it was worth it.  
  
It was just gone midday by the time they managed to track Varric down to his suite in the Hanged Man. (Though “suite” did not do the set of rooms justice: they easily rivaled the rooms Keri had been given as a guest in the royal palace in Ferelden in both size and splendor. In comparison to the room she shared with Bethany now... Well, if Varric ever found himself in need of a roommate she’d be more than happy to volunteer herself.)  
  
Varric was in the middle of a conversation with one of the tavern girls - a sullen, sour-faced brunette - when Keri and Bethany wandered in through the open door, Tiberius close at their heels. He waved the girl aside the moment he saw them enter and with an elaborate sweep of his arm offered them seats around the huge table that dominated the front room of the suite, set just a little too low for human comfort. Once they were comfortably ensconced, the mabari sprawled out in front of the crackling fire where, his mistress’s safety assured, he promptly fell asleep.  
  
Varric leaned back in his throne-like chair, steepling his fingers. “Well, well. If it isn’t my new partners,” he greeted with an easy smile. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”  
  
Keri found herself grinning back at him, put at ease by the dwarf’s obvious good humor.  
  
“Oh, you know how it is, I’m sure. Spend all night running around killing things and getting up early is just a little too much effort.”  
  
That drew a snicker from Varric. “If you say so.” He shook his head and settled his expression into something a little more somber. “But you’re here now, so we can get straight to business. Here’s the thing,” he began and Keri could not stop herself from groaning. She had learned to hate that tone of voice - no matter from whom it came, it always boded ill for her.  
  
Sharp fingers jabbed her in the side and she glanced over to see Bethany glaring at her, lips pursed tight and eyes serious. The message was clear: she was not allowed to screw this up by being a mouthy brat.  
  
Well, Keri may have been paraphrasing, but the idea was sound.  
  
Fine, then. She could be good  
  
“What’s the problem this time?”  
  
For some definition of good, apparently. But Varric did not appear to take offense: he just inclined his head toward her, smile turning a bit rueful.  
  
“Well, since you asked so nicely: we still need to find a way into the Deep Roads. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we’re down there, but we need a good entrance.”  
  
Keri heaved a tired sigh. “And no one thought to find one _before_ putting together the rest of the expedition?” Was it any wonder she had so many problems with dwarves, when they persisted in making no sense at all?  
  
“ _Sister_ ,” Bethany hissed in warning, digging her fingers into Keri’s side once more. Keri batted her hand away, attention focused on the dwarf in front of her. Bethany, sensible advice summarily ignored, subsided with a huff.  
  
“Bartrand had an entrance lined up,” Varric said, “but it was a bust. We need to track down another one if we want to have anywhere to take our fancy expedition.”  
  
“Of course we do.” Well, at least they had _tried_ to find an entrance on their own. That was something. Not much, but something. “So what do you expect me to do about it? I’m no scout.”  
  
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he assured her with a grin that was far too pleased with itself for Keri’s peace of mind. “My contacts tell me there’s a Grey Warden in the city.”  
  
As the words “Grey Warden” left Varric’s mouth, Keri felt every muscle in her body tense up. Fear set her nerves on fire and she could feel her pulse pounding all the way to her toes. Oh, Maker. Had her cover been blown already? Had someone managed to uncover her secret? Her mind whirled, running through the list of people who might have put it all together. Leandra and Bethany would have been the most likely, but she could not see either of them realizing who she was without somehow letting her know. Neither of them were all that good at keeping secrets. Athenril, then, would top the list. But how would -  
  
Her thoughts veered dangerously off-course before Varric continued, oblivious to Keri’s minor mental breakdown, and said something that set her mind - however temporarily - at ease.  
  
“If anyone knows how to get down there, it’ll be him.”  
  
Her breath left her lungs in a rush, a noise that was not a sigh of relief only b virtue of being much too sharp.  
 _  
Him_. Oh, thank the Maker, Andraste, and all the good spirits. It wasn’t Athenril. It wasn’t anyone. Her secret was still safe. For now.  
  
Blinking away her lingering shock, she pursed her lips as she thought.  
  
“What’s a Warden doing all the way out here?” she asked before she could stop herself. “The closest Warden outpost is over in Ansburg, and thats hundreds of miles away.”  
  
Varric shot her a startled look, eyebrows raised. Keri fought off a blush - so maybe that wasn’t information most people knew off the top of their heads. Hastily, she tried to back-pedal. “At least, that’s what I was told. Am I wrong?”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Varric said, suspicion subsiding. For the moment, at least. Bethany continued to study her curiously, head tilted just enough to be noticeable and crease-lines forming between her brows. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, just that he came in with some other Fereldan refugees not too long ago.”  
  
And the desperate hope Keri had been nursing that this mysterious Warden was someone sent from Ansburg or Orlais or Antiva to investigate something or kill something or whatever it was Wardens did when there was no archdemon to fight crumbled in the face of Varric’s matter-of-fact words. Fereldan. The Warden was Fereldan.  
  
Unless Nathaniel had gone on a massive recruitment spree after Keri had left (possible, but unlikely), the odds were that any Fereldan Warden would know her. Andraste’s ass, odds were that they had been _recruited_ by her.  
  
She couldn’t move, entire body frozen in trepidation. This Warden, whoever he was - Anders or Nathaniel or Justice or Oghren, it made no difference - would recognize her, would blow her cover. If she did not find another solution, this would be the end of her life as Keri Hawke.  
  
Some of her reaction must have shown on her face: Varric did not seem to notice anything amiss - he was too busy studying the parchments spread out on the table in front of him - but Bethany certainly did. She gave Keri the concerned little frown that her sister had come to realize meant there would be _conversations_ occurring in the near future. Keri could not bring herself to care.  
 _  
Oh, get ahold of yourself, Kerilyn._ With a massive burst of effort she forced her focus back to the conversation at hand. She could cross that bridge when she got to it. Until then, she would have to work under the assumption that her secret was still safe, that it would _stay_ safe. To do otherwise was to invite madness and she had enough of that to manage already without going around begging for more.  
  
“Any idea how we can find him?” she finally asked, voice rough. Varric shrugged.  
  
“A Lowtown woman named Lirene has been helping the Fereldans: odds are she helped this Warden out, too. She’s got a little shop right here in Lowtown, just down the street. We talk to her, maybe we learn where he is.”  
  
Keri sighed and climbed to her feet, followed shortly by her companions. Tiberius, woken from his nap by the scrape of chair legs against the wooden floor, looked over at them with an inquiring huff.  
 _  
Leaving already?_ his expression asked. When Keri nodded, he clambered to his feet with a rueful whine, drawing an amused snicker out of Bethany .With everyone’s attention focused on the mabari across the room, Keri took a moment to school her expression - and her stance - into something a little closer to normal.  
  
“Well, what are we waiting around here for? Might as well get this over with.”

 

  
  
Lirene’s Fereldan Imports was a tiny little shop crammed full of people, all of them various degrees of destitute. The din they made, each yelling to be heard over the others, meant that picking any one voice out of the crowd was impossible. Keri, Bethany, and Varric fought their way to the front with a judicious application of shoving and squirming - they had left Tiberius outside, working under the assumption that a crowded little shop was no place for a lumbering warhound - until they finally made it up to the little wooden counter that separated Lirene from the refugees. When Keri lifted a hand to get the shopkeeper’s attention, the woman sighed.  
  
“If you’re seeking aid, leave your name with my girl,” she told Keri, weariness threading through her voice. “We serve everyone here - no one came from Ferelden without trouble. But I can’t give priority to anyone who has already found work and lodging.” She spoke with the rhythmic cadence of someone who had said the same thing so many times that it had become second nature, the words flowing from her mouth without her having to think about them at all. Steeling herself, Keri moved closer to be heard over the crowd.  
  
“Actually, we’re looking for someone,” she said. “A Fereldan Grey Warden - we heard it said that you might know where to find him?”  
  
Lirene snorted. “The only Fereldan Grey Warden I know of is sitting on the throne,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. Keri bit back a wince. After everything else, the clear reference to Alistair was almost too much.  
  
Though that aside, a little part of her couldn’t help but take some offence: what about her, then? The number of people who knew Alistair is (had been) a Warden who did not also know about her was so small as to be practically nonexistent.  
  
She stamped down on that surge of affronted pride - isn’t that what she wanted, for people to forget about her? - and shook her head.  
  
“Look, I just need to find a Warden. Fereldan or otherwise, I don’t really care. As long as they know something about the Deep Roads, that’s all I’m concerned about.”  
  
“We’re out of the Blight’s path now: why would you need a Warden?” Lirene asked and Keri prepared to launch into an abbreviated explanation of their expedition when one of the refugees standing beside them butted into the conversation.  
  
“The healer was one of them once, wasn’t he? A Warden?”  
  
At the word “healer,” the bundle of nerves Keri had been nursing in the pit of her stomach began to morph into something closer to abject terror than anything as simple as nerves. Despite repeated silent assurances that Healer-Wardens couldn’t be _that_ rare, that there was no proof that her suspicions were anything more than rampant paranoia, she couldn’t even manage to pull herself together for long enough to follow the argument Lirene was having with the helpful refugee. It wasn’t until they stopped speaking and all four of them - Lirene, the refugee, Bethany and Varric - turned to look at her that she realized she had missed her cue to join in on the conversation.  
  
“Look,” she said, going for generic answers since she really had no idea what the problem was. The word struck in her too-dry throat and her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she tried again. “I really don’t want to cause him any trouble - we just need some information about the Deep Roads that he’d be uniquely qualified to answer.”  
  
She could tell that Lirene was less than convinced, but the woman finally surrendered with an unhappy grimace. “I suppose it isn’t my secret to keep,” she admitted, though the bitter twist to her lips said that she wished it was. She then went on to send Keri’s entire carefully-constructed world tumbling down around her ears with a single word. “Anders has certainly been free enough with his services.”  
  
The blood drained from Keri’s face and her entire body began to shake, tiny little tremors that had her bracing herself against the counter, knuckles white against the splintered wood. _Anders_. The name echoed around in her skull, a mantra heard by no one but her. She had been expecting it but that did nothing to lesson the heart-stopping terror of hearing all her fears come true. Vaguely she heard Bethany take over the conversation above her, felt her sister’s hand warm on the nape of her neck, but it was as though she was disconnected from everything going on around her. Bethany’s hand was warm, but not as warm as it should be. Her voice, which should have been perfectly audible to Keri’s ears, sounded muffled, drowned out by the roaring in her ears.  
 _  
Shock_ , she thought somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind where things were still relatively comprehensible, _I’m in shock. Huh. Been a while since that happened..._  
  
As the conversation around her ceased she felt Bethany’s hand move from her neck to grip her beneath her elbow, all but dragging her out of the shop. The bright light outside burned Keri’s eyes, forcing its way through the haze that seemed to cover everything and returning a degree of awareness to her. Together Bethany and Varric maneuvered her to a corner next to the door to Lirene’s shop and sat her down on an upturned barrel where she could catch her breath. Tiberius rested his massive head on her knee, offering comfort the only way he knew how. As soon as she could look up without wanting to be violently sick, she met Bethany’s eyes with a quavery smile.  
  
“I’m all right now, I think,” she whispered, not quite able to bring herself to speak any louder. Bethany just lifted an eyebrow in disbelief, but Varric was a bit more vocal.  
  
“Bullshit. What happened in there, Hawke?” he demanded and at any other time Keri would have been touched by the concern in his voice. Right now, though, she just wanted this confrontation over with so they could move on. She still had to find a way to get them to let her go see this Warden - go see _Anders_ on her own. Whatever it took, she could _not_ let them come with her. Not this time.  
  
“I...I don’t feel so good,” she admitted, a short tremor running through her body as though to emphasize her words. “I think I should like to lie down now.”  
  
Bethany and Varric shared a worried glance - so nice that they could bond over her distress, really - before they levered Keri to her feet and hovered like a pair of overprotective mother hens until she proved she was capable of standing under her own power.  
  
“Let’s get you home, Sister,” Bethany said, sticking close to Keri’s side just in case. “You can rest a bit and then explain what’s going on. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
 _  
Close enough_ Keri thought, though she retained enough presence of mind not to say as much out loud. She _had_ seen a ghost, in a manner of speaking, just not quite the way Bethany intended it. Not the ghost of a person but rather of the person she used to be.  
  
It was not a pleasant reminder.  
  
  
 _Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke  
[18 Drakonis 9:33 Dragon]  
  
Oh, by the Maker’s fuzzy blue _ balls _. Life just got complicated. Life just got_ really _complicated.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Anders. I thought... Maker, I thought I’d never see him again. Had counted on it, in fact. Had counted on never seeing _ any _of them again.  
  
Andraste preserve me. I’m terrified. Of all the people I could have run into from my life before, why did it have to be Anders? Admittedly, of any of the Wardens I left behind, I think Anders is the one who would resent me the least for it. If anyone would understand the need to run, it would be him. Nathaniel probably would be the worst, I think. Or perhaps Justice. I can only imagine what would happen if Justice were to find me here - at least Anders can be convinced to keep my secret if given a good enough reason. Justice would never lie, not even for me. Maybe especially not for me - I doubt I’m one of his favorite people at the moment after the way I ran out.  
  
But Anders... Fuck, even if he does understand why I did it, there’s no way he’ll ever forgive me for what I did to him. What I did to all of them.  
  
What am I going to do? We need those maps and there’s no way Bethany and Varric will let me sit this one out, not without an explanation. I guess there’s only one thing I can do, isn’t there? The three of us are supposed to head to Darktown in the morning to see if we can find him and I can’t let that happen. I have to go alone.  
  
I suppose there’s no use in putting this off, is there? I’ll go see him as soon as Bethany falls asleep.  
  
Oh, Maker, please don’t let me screw this up.  
  
\- K.H._


	8. "An Exchange of Services"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (mostly) unexpected reunion

Despite the fact that the sun had set on the city above hours before, the lantern over the door to the Darktown healer’s clinic still burned brightly, throwing the dismal corridor outside into sharp relief. After a quick check to ensure that the hood of her cloak concealed her face Keri slipped through the rotting wooden doors with hardly a sound. She saw no reason to announce her presence there to all and sundry.

She shut the door behind her and paused for a moment to stand and take in her surroundings. The clinic was surprisingly clean considering its location and surprisingly busy considering the time. A handful of patients milled around, some standing, others lying on the cots scattered across the floor, all giving the center of the room a wide berth.

It was this center cot that drew Keri’s eye. Standing beside it, bathed in the familiar blue glow of healing magic, was an even more familiar face.

Anders had changed in the last year. Some of the changes were obvious – his hair was shorter, his earring missing, his face more lined. Others took a moment of quiet observation to notice – the somber expression as he healed the boy in front of him (before, the simple act of using magic always brought a look of joy to his face), the hunched shoulders (the Anders she knew stood tall no matter the circumstances, reveling in the fact that he towered over nearly everyone), the haggard robes clinging to his thin frame (he had always been so careful about his appearance, from the elaborately-embroidered robes to the toned muscles of his chest and arms). The man before her was not the same man she had left behind in Amaranthine so long ago.

She didn’t care. The very sight of him made her heart beat faster, her breath catch in her throat. Maker, she had _missed_ him. So fucking much. She had not expected to be this affected by seeing him again, had expected to be able to handle this conversation without getting too emotionally invested.

She had been wrong.

And then standing at the door was no longer enough. She had to speak to him, had to make him _see_ her. She found herself yearning for this connection to her old life in spite of all the effort she had put into severing those ties.

She was halfway across the room before she even realized she had moved, face still hidden in the shadows of her hood but footsteps no longer silent. She could see the exact moment that Anders realized she was there – in one fluid motion he drew away from his patient and reached for his staff, holding it in front of himself like a shield. He glared at her and she could feel the very air around him sing with the power of his magic, sharp and tinged with electricity.

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation,” he growled, voice deeper and more serious than she had ever heard from him. “Why do you threaten it?”

“I mean no harm.” Keri watched the recognition flicker across Anders’s face at the sound of her voice, but he did not say a word. It took a massive effort to keep her hands from shaking as she reached up to lower her hood but she managed, fixing her gaze on Anders.

Aside from that first hint of realization, none of what he was feeling showed itself in his expression. He had learned control at some point in the last year, it seemed; she was almost disappointed.

“Hello, Anders,” she murmured, voice far breathier than she had intended. Damn nerves.

“Comm-”

She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Don’t. I’m not. Not here.”

_Maker’s breath, girl. Complete sentences. You’re a Cousland, a Warden, not some stuttering little farmgirl. Pull yourself together._

And she did. Slowly and with a great amount of effort she salvaged the tattered little pieces of her wits from the babbling mess she had become, lifted her chin and straightened her spine until she could face Anders with something resembling equanimity.

“It’s Keri now. Or Hawke, I suppose.” The idea of Anders referring to her by her new name, by her adopted name was...wrong. But it was better than “Commander,” so she would have to deal with it.

Anders’s mouth thinned and there was no welcome to be found in his eyes. “Hawke, then. If you’re here to bring me back to the Wardens, you should know that I’m not going.”

“No, I-”

Halfway through her denial Keri stopped, realizing what he had just said. “Wait, you’ve left the Wardens?”

Anders lifted an eyebrow and gestured to the clinic around him. “I had thought that was obvious.”

“ _Why_?” She couldn’t imagine it – she knew Anders, or at least she had thought she did. The Wardens were what kept him safe from the templars: leaving them was as good as turning himself over to their tender mercies. Why would he?

_Maybe,_ murmured a little voice in the back of her head, one she tried desperately to ignore, _maybe you knew him just about as well as he knew you._ It was a sobering thought and one Keri did not want to dwell on.

He shrugged, a deceptively casual motion that ruffled the dark feathers on his pauldrons. “They made me get rid of my cat.” The tightening of the corners of his mouth revealed that for the excuse it was, but Keri let it slide. He was hardly the only one with secrets, after all.

“Ser Pounce-a-lot? Really? I can’t see Nathaniel pulling something like that.”

A spark of surprise flashed across Anders’s face – had he expected her to forget the name of the kitten she had given him? Really? Or was this something else? – but was soon replaced by something darker, something Keri could not identify. Anger, maybe. Disgust. “He wouldn’t. He was replaced as Commander not long after you left – Weisshaupt didn’t accept his assignment and sent an Orlesian in.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, dislodging the nubby little ponytail and sending loose strands falling down around his face. It made him look...softer, somehow. Less severe. And there was a word she never would have thought to associate with Anders, at least before tonight. “But that’s hardly important. If you’re not here for the Wardens, then why did you come?” He didn’t sound curious, just tired.

She snorted softly. “Honestly? I need to ask a favor that I’m well aware I have no right to ask for from you.”

A quirk of one pale eyebrow betrayed his curiosity. He might not help – he might not be _able_ to help - but she was fairly certain that he would at least hear her out. Which was... better than she was expecting, to be honest. Shades, the fact that he was even _talking_ to her was more than she had been expecting.

“When you left Amaranthine, did you happen to grab a map of the Deep Roads in the area on your way out?”

The eyebrow rose fractionally higher. “The Deep Roads? Andraste’s ass, why do you want maps of the blighted _Deep Roads_? You’re not a Warden anymore. You’ve made _that_ abundantly clear.”

Keri ignored the bitterness she could hear in his voice and instead summed up her situation with as few details as possible. She explained about Bethany and the templars, told him about Bartrand’s stubbornness and Varric’s plan. When she had finished, he sighed.

“You never can do things the easy way, can you?” It was a rhetorical question and Keri did not bother to respond, giving him a moment to consider her request. Silence fell as he studied her, warm brown eyes narrowed. His mouth thinned into a fine line as he reached a decision, though Keri could not for the life of her tell which one. “I have maps, yes. I didn’t take them from the Vigil – their acquisition was a bit more recent than that – but I do have them.” He paused, lips pursed in thought. “I’ll make you a deal. A favor for a favor, you could say. I need your help.”

Keri snorted in amusement. This at least was familiar territory. Everyone seemed to need her help; she knew how to handle an exchange of services.

“Whatever you need.”

“Really.” He dragged the word out, turning the simple two-syllable word into something else entirely. Doubt and curiosity and underneath it all a degree of cautious hope that all but broke Keri’s heart even as it sent a shiver down her spine.

And then Anders told her what he needed, relayed the story of an old friend (Karl Thekla, whom Keri had never heard of before but that was hardly surprising: Anders never had been much for sharing stories of his days in the Circle) in danger, of templars and mages and Gallows, and she knew there was no way she could say no. She looked up at him with an easy smile, desperate to do something to ease the worry lines etched around his eyes. He had changed. That did not mean she had to stop caring.

“I hope you realize that I’d have agreed to help you even if you didn’t have the maps. I wouldn’t leave anyone in danger, not if I could help it.” She had done worse for complete strangers - the thought that she would do any less for someone who had once been (might still be? Could be again?) her friend was laughable. Or it would be, were the situation not so very serious.

The look of utter relief on Anders’s face at her agreement was well worth any grief Bethany or Varric would give her tomorrow for her sudden need to do everything on her own, for making decisions without waiting for their input. They’d get over it eventually and this needed to be said now.

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you...” Anders trailed off, and Keri didn’t think she wanted to know how that sentence was supposed to end. Nowhere pleasant, she was certain.

They made plans to meet in front of the Chantry in an hour, leaving Keri more than enough time to wake Bethany and Varric and drag them along. Assuming they didn’t murder her for sneaking out on them, that is...

 

_Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke_

_[18 Drakonis 9:33]_

_I have noticed in my time traveling that there is a certain degree of self-centeredness inherent in everyone - human, elf, and dwarf alike. When we leave a place - when we leave a_ person _\- we expect to be able to return to find them unchanged. While our lives may go on, while we may grow and change and evolve, those we leave behind should not._

_I’m as guilty of this as anyone else, I learned today. I had expected those I left behind to stay exactly as I remembered them, static. Frozen in time, awaiting my triumphant return. As though time ceases to pass without me there to witness it. And how self-absorbed can you get? The world does not revolve around me; everyone has their own lives that don’t stop just because I leave. That fact has never been more obvious than it was today._

_The Anders I met tonight is not the Anders I knew. Not even remotely. Something about him, something vital has changed. I don’t know what it is and I doubt he would tell me if I asked, but that does not change the fact that he is_ different _. I am not sure I approve._

_Though I am certain that my approval counts for very little with Anders anymore. And that is my own fault. I knew when I left that it was unlikely he would ever forgive me. I just hadn’t expected to ever have to deal with that fact._

_There are no words to describe how much I hate the fact that the man who was once one of my best friends is now little more than a stranger._

_\- K.H._


	9. "A Cautious Man"

Keri met Anders outside the Chantry at the appointed time, Varric and Bethany in tow. As she had expected, they had treated her to a thorough chewing-out for her decision to meet up with the healer on her own - she couldn’t tell if Varric’s concern had stemmed more from the dangers of delving into Darktown on her own or from missing out on what might have been a vital part of his story. She preferred to believe the former despite a niggling certainty that it was the latter: it made her feel better to think that he might give a damn about her as a person instead of just as fodder for some tall tale.

They arrived at the top of the staircase to find Anders skulking around the front door doing a terrible job of hiding from prying eyes. Pale, blond men dressed in robes swathed in shiny black feathers, Keri decided, were _not_ designed for stealth. As their small group approached, Anders’s eyes skimmed over both of the newcomers in turn. Despite the fact that he never once directed that stare her way, Keri could feel the weight of the suspicion it in, an almost palpable degree of unease. When he finally did meet Keri’s gaze, she could read the question buried there.

Could he trust these people, these strangers?

Though she doubted the effect her opinion would have on his she nodded anyway, sharp and quick. He said nothing in response but some of the tension in his body eased, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest fraction. Interesting. Perhaps her relationship with him had not been damaged beyond repair after all.

That was a comforting thought.

“Anders,” she greeted as soon as the three of them had reached his hiding place, her voice pitched low enough that it would not carry through the still night air. Just because _he_ seemed to have no idea how to stay unnoticed did not mean she suffered the same problem. She turned to introduce Bethany and Varric, but the dwarf beat her to it.

“So you’re the Warden healer, are you?” He cast a critical eye along Anders’s robes as he took in the feathery pauldrons, the tattered hems, the worn boots. “I’ve got to say, you’re not quite what I was expecting.” He rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug, one hand reaching back to brush against the great crossbow on his back as though checking to ensure it was still there. “Still, I can work with this. Hawke’s filled us in - your boy inside?”

Anders stared at Varric, confusion etched across his face. Keri took pity on him and stepped forward to stand between the two, one hand on Varric’s shoulder. “Anders, meet Varric Tethras. Feel free to ignore him - he’s a writer.”

Varric pressed one hand over his heart with a look of indignation. “You wound me, madam,” he drawled, though the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smirk that belied his feigned affront.

Keri rolled her eyes and took her own advice, blithely ignoring him in favor of gesturing to Bethany. “And this is Bethany.” A pause as she considered whether to add the next part. She had avoided this particular fact in their conversation earlier, uncertain how much detail she wanted him to have on her new life. Now, though... The situation was different now, the parameters had changed. He needed to know. She met his gaze and held it as she spoke the next words. “My sister.”

If she was expecting a reaction to her pronouncement (and she was), she was destined for disappointment. A startled little blink of his eyes was the only sign that Anders had expected anything else and he nodded to both girl and dwarf.

“Thank you for your help tonight,” he told them, though his eyes flicked over to Keri for the barest of moments as he said it. “I did not relish the thought of making this attempt on my own.”

Varric brushed off his gratitude with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, we’re a regular bunch of philanthropists, it’s true. We’re totally not here just for the Deep Roads maps you promised.”

“I see.” The corner of Anders’s mouth curled up in a hint of a smile. “Well, whatever your reasons, I am grateful. There are few who would go out of their way to aid a mage, no matter the reward offered.” He sighed and returned his attention to Keri. “But this is not the time for such conversations. I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago. No templars so far, but that means little. Stay on your guard. When we get inside let me handle the talking; you just watch for templars.”

“Talking?” Keri repeated with a frown. As far as she could remember, conversation had never been part of the plan. “Do you expect Karl to need convincing? I thought you two had spoken of this already.”

“Not convincing, no. But Karl has always been a cautious man - it may take a moment for him to realize that this is the only way to keep him alive. If the templars have their way he’ll be executed for trying to help me and I will _not_ let that happen.”

His voice held a level of fierce conviction that Keri had never heard from him before, a kind of carefully-contained fury that had not been present when she left Amaranthine. What had caused it, she wondered. And more importantly, if she had been there, if she hadn’t left, could she have prevented it?

But dwelling on that would accomplish nothing useful and Keri focused instead on the situation at hand. With a sweeping gesture she ushered Anders ahead of her.

“Lead the way.”

 

Keri had done many illegal, immoral, and unethical things since becoming a Grey Warden, but breaking into a Chantry in the middle of the night was a new one, even for her. She wasn’t all that religious, not anymore - the Blight and the events surrounding it had effectively destroyed any belief she had in a benevolent god and getting to know Bethany and Wynne and Anders had shattered her faith in the Chantry itself. She would not, could not support something that would condemn her friends for the simple crime of existing. Still, something about breaking into a Chantry felt different, more forbidden than her typical bouts of lawlessness. She might not worship here anymore but there were plenty who did and that lent the place an air of sanctity that set Keri’s nerves alight even as she desecrated it. She suspected she would have much the same reaction to infiltrating Orzammar’s Hall of Paragons or...whatever the Dalish used as places of worship. She had never thought to ask.

One of the lay sisters had long since doused the large candles in the main hall - only the flickering flames of the Memorial Wall candles shed any sort of light into this part of the Chantry. A stronger, steadier blaze filtered down from one of the studies on the second floor and it was there that Anders led them.

On the far side of the study, all but hidden in the shadows cast by the lit torches that lined the walls, a tall, grey-haired man stood with his back to them and his hands hanging limp at his sides. Judging by Anders’s quiet sigh of relief at the sight of him, Keri assumed this was Karl Thekla.

When Karl did not so much as move his head when he heard them approach - and he could not possibly have missed their presence, not with how much noise the mages made even as they tried to be silent - Keri’s stomach began to twist itself up in knots. This entire situation felt wrong, sent a warning tingle down her spine that she could not have ignored if she wanted to. Then Karl began to speak, face still turned toward the opposite wall and instead of twisting Keri’s stomach decided to just abandon ship altogether, leaving a hollow sort of terror deep in her belly.

“Anders. I know you too well.” No inflection colored Karl’s voice, no emotion. Keri recognized the speech patterns, had heard them from the enchanter at Ostagar, from Owain in the Circle Tower. She knew what it meant. “I knew you would never give up.”

Anders had to have noticed the monotone; how could he not? But there was no shock on his face, no horror. Just a soft concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a careful step toward Karl. “Why are you talking like -”

Karl turned to face them at last, features thrown into sharp relief by the torchlight and Anders drew back, eyes wide, all the blood drained from his face. He looked as though someone had just driven a knife into his back, lost and betrayed. In a way, Keri supposed they had done just that. She could hear Bethany’s shocked whimper at her side, could hear Varric’s muttered oath as they caught sight of the red sunburst sigil branded onto Karl’s forehead. They were too late: the templars had already made their move.

Karl was Tranquil.

Oblivious to Anders’s horror, Karl kept talking, every word out of his mouth twisting the knife that much deeper. “I was too rebellious. Like you. The templars knew I had to be... made an example of.”

“No...” Anders breathed, a helpless, defeated sort of sound. His entire body seemed to fold in on itself, shoulders curled forward, staff drawn close to his side. Powerless to help and more devastated than she had any right to be - she had not known Karl, had never even heard of the man before that night; there was no reason to feel like someone had just ripped the floor out from underneath her - Keri stepped forward to stand at Anders’s side, resting one hand on his arm. She couldn’t help him, not in any meaningful way, but she could damn well make sure he knew he wasn’t alone in this.

“How else will mages ever master themselves? You’ll understand, Anders.” Karl looked over their shoulders as he spoke and Keri dragged her eyes away from his branded forehead to see why. “As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself.”

Templars. Lots of templars. Keri had her blades drawn and at the ready even as Karl gestured toward Anders.

“This is the apostate.”

The templars moved toward Anders as a single entity, heedless of the others beside him. They had not been decried as mages, so the templars did not care. As Keri began to plan out the best way to approach this battle, eyes dancing from templar to templar, from shadow to shadow, Anders fell to his knees with an outraged roar. She abandoned her schemes as she crouched beside him, fighting off a wave of panic. What the blazes had just happened? She hadn’t seen any of the templars prepare a holy smite, no arrows had yet been shot nor knives thrown. So why had he fallen?

Before her eyes Anders’s skin cracked and peeled and began to leak a brilliant blue light, illuminating the darkened Chantry and casting deep shadows across the faces of the templars that surrounded them. The very air around him crackled with magic and power and when Anders rose to his feet once more he was... not himself. If she had not known any better, Keri would have said he had become an abomination. But this was no kind of demon possession she had ever seen. What in the _Void_...

“You will _never_ take another mage as you took him!” Anders snarled in a voice that reverberated throughout the Chantry. Except it wasn’t Anders’s voice coming out of his mouth. At least, not _just_ Anders’s - a second voice echoed over the top of his, deep and fierce and angry and so damnably familiar. But Keri did not have a chance to contemplate the matter - at the sight of such unknown magic the templars shook off the surprise that had held them immobile and launched themselves at Anders. And that was all the impetus she needed to throw herself into the fray at his side.

Her blades flashed as she flew around the study-turned-battlefield, striking and dancing away before her opponents could recover enough to retaliate. This technique made her more of a target than was probably healthy, she knew, but she had to keep the templars’ attention on her and off the mages and Varric. She at least could handle a melee assault, if only briefly; any of her companions would be overwhelmed in an instant if it came down to hand-to-hand. So she struck out at as many as she could to draw their attention to her, killing none but distracting most as arcs of lightning, waves of frost, and a steady stream of crossbow bolts took out the ones she left behind. 

Only once did a templar get in a lucky hit, blade sliding in between a gap in the side of her leather armor. But no sooner had she stumbled to one knee with a shout of pain than a bolt thudded into her assailant’s forehead and the familiar warmth of Anders’s healing magic coursed through her body, wiping away the pain as it closed the wound. Whatever Anders had done to himself, it had not impacted his skills as a healer. She was up on her feet even before the healing magic had finished its work, ready to wreak havoc amongst the remaining templars as the last vestiges of her injury faded away.

The battle did not last long - between Bethany and Anders’s powerful spells, Varric’s hail of bolts and Keri’s own ability to keep the templars too distracted to work up a smite, they cut through their ranks with relative ease. After about ten minutes and one particularly stubborn bastard who would not die no matter how many times they hit him, the last tempar went down and the Chantry fell silent once more.

Once no one remained on whom it could take out its anger, the strange force possessing Anders vanished and the man it left behind seemed so much smaller than he had before, like all the energy had gone out of him when he regained control of himself. He stumbled and would have fallen to his knees if Keri had not shoved herself forward to wrap an arm around his waist, draping his arm over her shoulders. She propped him up, baffled by the look of shocked gratitude he shot her.

“Are-” But before she could get her question out, another voice interrupted hers.

“Anders, what did you do?”

Anders’s attention snapped from Keri over to Karl, who was staring at him in... shock? Keri frowned at the older mage - Tranquil didn’t do emotions, last time she checked. Judging by Anders’s expression, she was not the only one thrown by this development.

For all that Keri itched to discover the answer to Karl’s question herself, one glance over to where Anders stared at Karl with wide, disbelieving eyes and she knew she would have to put that concern on hold for now. He was in no state to answer anyone’s questions and likely would not be until he got some answers of his own. When he made no move to demand those answers, Keri took it upon herself to step in.

“So would you care to fill the rest of us in on what the ever-loving fuck is going on here?” she asked, keeping her tone light despite the vulgarity. She did not need to antagonize the recently-Tranquil nor the recently-possessed by being confrontational. No matter how much she might want to. “It’s just, I could have sworn you were Tranquil not ten minutes ago.”

“I was. I mean, I am.” Karl sounded just as confused as Keri felt, which was a point in his favor. She hadn’t truly believed he had tricked them earlier, but she would be lying if she said the thought had not crossed her mind. His actions were doing a good job of convincing her otherwise, though. “When a mage is made Tranquil, they are cut off from the fade. Permanently. Or so I believed; so we all believed. But...it’s like the Fade itself was inside Anders, burning like a sun.” He turned to address his next comment to Anders directly rather than Keri. “It’s like you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like. And it’s fading. I don’t know how you brought it back, but it’s fading. Please, Anders. Kill me before I forget again.”

She felt Anders flinch against her side, tension running through his entire body. He pushed her to one side to stand on his own in front of Karl, eyes wide and lips pressed tight together. Keri let him pull away but stayed close by, a silent support. “Karl, no...”

“Is there...isn’t there something we can do?” Keri asked as she turned pleading eyes toward Karl. “Anything?” But it was Anders who answered, despair morphing his voice into a broken wreck of a thing.

“Can you cure a beheading?” He shook his head and continued before Keri could even begin to think of a response to that. “The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed - you know that, I know you do. There isn’t anything left to fix.” Keri watched the resolve harden in his eyes and he stepped toward Karl, one hand clenched around the hilt of the knife at his belt. 

“And I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet,” Karl added, eyes never leaving Anders’s.

“We always said as much, didn’t we?” Anders’s voice was soft, the words meant more for himself than any of them. “Karl...I’m so sorry.” 

He pulled the knife from its sheath and took that final step to stand before Karl when Keri brought him to a pause with a gentle hand on his arm.

“Anders, don’t do this,” she urged, voice a low murmur. “Please. Let me. I don’t...you shouldn’t have to do this yourself.”

Anders shot her a smile, broken and devastated and the sight of it shattered something deep within Keri. She had to bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from tears - Anders didn’t need anything to make this harder for him. One look at his expression and she knew what his answer was even before he gave it. He lifted her hand from his arm, squeezing it once as he let it drop.

“I have to,” he said and the pain in his voice splintered what shreds of self control she had gathered. With a terse nod she stepped away from him, hands clenched at her sides as tears traced their way down her cheeks. When he was certain she wouldn’t interrupt again he turned back to Karl, expression closing down.

“Thank you,” Karl breathed, the words laced through with a depth of gratitude and love that Keri felt almost voyeuristic overhearing. “Now, Anders. It’s fading - I can’t...” His back straightened, his chin lifted, and all trace of emotion wiped clean from his face. “Why do you look at me like that?”

Whatever it was Anders had done, however it was he had managed to get through what the templars had done to Karl, it was over. There was nothing left of Karl in the shell standing before them. Anders’s shoulders fell and he pushed himself up to press a chaste kiss to Karl’s unresponsive mouth. 

“Goodbye,” he whispered and without pulling away drove his knife deep into Karl’s chest. The older mage sagged forward with a quiet gasp, but he made no other sound. Anders caught him before he fell, staggering for a moment under the weight and Keri stepped up to help him lower Karl to the ground. Gaze fixed on Karl’s face - or perhaps it was more accurate to say the brand on Karl’s forehead - Anders reached out to close his sightless eyes. He rose to his feet and turned to face Keri, his face every bit as blank as Karl’s had been just moments before. The sight of it saddened her more than any display of grief or anger would have - there was nothing of Anders in that expression, nothing _human_. Just...emptiness.

“We should leave before more templars come,” he said, voice dull and lifeless, and without waiting for a response he turned and walked away - from Keri, from the bodies of the fallen templars, from Karl. Keri’s gaze flickered between his retreating back and Varric and Bethany, both suspiciously quiet throughout the entire encounter. Every instinct pushed her to follow Anders, to maker sure he was all right, to help him however she could. Every instinct but one. She could not leave Bethany alone, not in the middle of the night, not in the Chantry. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, torn.

Bethany rolled her eyes at Keri’s dilemma and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go after him, Sister,” she advised, a joyless smile touching at her mouth. “I know you want to and he needs you more than I do right now. I’ll be fine - Varric will protect me. Right, Varric?”

Varric gave her a gallant bow. “I could never refuse a request from such a beautiful woman, milady,” he assured her but even he seemed less jovial than usual. Keri nodded once and fixed Varric with a hard stare.

“If anything happens to my sister, Tethras, I will _end_ you. We clear?” The quaver in her voice meant that the threat was less intimidating than it could have been but the intent was there all the same.

“Yes, yes, I’m quaking in my impeccably-styled boots. Now go after him, would you? We’ll be at the Hanged Man when you’re done. And Hawke? I expect _details_.”

With a roll of her eyes Keri turned to follow after Anders, leaving her friends standing in the empty Chantry. Bethany would be safe with Varric, she knew; she wasn’t leaving Anders to deal with this on his own. Besides, he still owed her some answers.


	10. "Not The Man She Knew"

Keri caught up to Anders near the border between Hightown and Lowtown: he had not had more than a few moments’ leadon her but his stride was nearly twice hers and he had set himself a brisk pace. She did not say anything as she approached, just fell into step beside him and they walked in tense silence through the Lowtown hexes into Darktown. Anders led the way through the maze-like warren, arriving at the barred doors of his clinic without a single wrong turn or misstep. His eyes flicked over to hers once as he disarmed the wards and unbarred the doors - was he making sure she was still there? Wondering if she intended to follow him in? Praying she would go away and leave him in peace? What was going through his mind? He left the door open as he swept into the empty clinic, which Keri took as as close to an invitation as she was likely to get just then. He hadn’t slammed the door in her face, the reaction Keri had half-expected. So she followed him inside, checking to make sure that the heavy door had shut and locked behind her. The last thing they needed was for this conversation to be overheard by curious onlookers or interrupted by needy patients. If someone truly needed medical attention, they could knock.

Anders continued to ignore her as she hovered just inside the door. For a few minutes she was content to let him set the pace, to stand quietly off to one side and watch him drift around the clinic, straightening bottles and stacking bandages without a word or motion to acknowledge her presence. But even the noblest of goals could not compete with her natural impatience and as time dragged on Keri realized that if she wanted to have a conversation, she was going to have to be the one to instigate it. That was fine; she could work with that.

“Anders,” she said, voice soft but firm. She moved until she was standing just behind him, forcing herself not to reach out to lay a hand on his shoulder or his arm. “Anders, talk to me. Please.”

He scoffed at that but turned around, so Keri was willing to count it as a win. “I don’t see what there is to talk about.” He toyed with a bundle of elfroot as he spoke, staring at the leafy herb as though entranced.

“You could tell me what happened back there,” she offered, careful to keep it from coming out as a demand.

“You saw what happened. We were too late.”

She reached out to tug the elfroot out of his hands and set it on the table beside them, forcing him to focus on their conversation. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. What...what did you do? When the templars attacked, what happened? If I didn’t know better I’d have said you were possessed, but...”

“You’re wrong,” he said, though he would not meet her eyes as he said it. “But not far wrong. I...Maker, how do I say this? You remember Justice?”

Keri’s mouth fell open as the pieces clicked into place, all the little clues and hints she had spent the last few hours carefully ignoring. Oh, she remembered Justice. She remembered Justice and Nathaniel talking the difference between spirits and demons. She remembered them talking about Justice’s possession of a corpse. She remembered them talking about _willing hosts_. Anders didn’t mean... Anders _couldn’t_ mean...

“He... after you left, his body continued to decay. The process had started even before then, really, though I’m not sure you would have noticed it. It was subtle at first - the skin of his face began to sag, his eyes dulled. But it grew worse and people started to notice, started to talk. He needed a new host.”

“And you offered to help him.” Keri couldn’t believe what she was hearing. No, that was not quite right. She believed it - how could she not, with the evidence literally staring her in the face? She just could not _understand_ it. What had _happened_ to her Wardens after her departure? The Anders she knew, the Anders she was coming to realize was gone forever, would never have agreed to something like that. He was too selfish, too determined to ignore all the world’s problems in favor of his own freedoms. None of that added up to sharing headspace with a Fade spirit. Especially a Fade spirit as rigid and unyielding as Justice.

Anders nodded, the lack of condemnation in her voice enough to finally drag his eyes to hers. “Yes. He recognized the injustices that mages face in Thedas every day.” Which wasn’t news to her: Justice and Anders had held frequent discussions about the oppression of mages, but it had always been Justice’s show; he just sort of dragged Anders along for the ride as the mage tried desperately to deflect the spirit’s questions with his usual easy humor. The way Anders was speaking now... that had changed. “We were going to work together to bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle.”

And Maker, Keri wished she could condemn him for that, call him foolish or impulsive, chastise him for letting a creature of the Fade anywhere near his mind, no matter how friendly it was. But she couldn’t. In his position, could she honestly say she wouldn’t have done the same damn thing? She had no answer to that question and the realization terrified her.

But that was neither hear nor there. She could consider the moral ramifications late,r once she had a better idea of what exactly was going on here. And to get that she needed to know more.

“That doesn’t explain...” Keri trailed off, searching for the right words. For some reason she did not think “that doesn’t explain why you suddenly care about someone other than yourself, about something other than your own freedom, your own pleasure” would go over very well. “I guess I’m just having difficulties imagining you agreeing to something like that.”

“Things changed when you left.” Anders gave a shrug that was far too exact to be anything close to casual and Keri was more than capable of reading between the lines there. Things had changed, yes. They had changed for the worse. And he had not yet forgiven her for allowing those changes to occur. “I wasn’t safe anymore, not even in the Wardens. That... made me realize some things, forced me to grow up some. I’m not...” He raised one hand to massage his temple with a weary sigh. “I’m not the man you knew, Comm - Hawke. _We’re_ not the men you knew.”

That much Keri had figured out on her own. But one glance at the guarded look in Anders’s eyes and she knew that was a story she would not hear. At least not tonight. Time to change the subject before he shut down on her completely.

“That wasn’t Justice I saw earlier, though,” Keri pressed, drawing their focus back to the original topic. She still had questions and had no intention of leaving without answers. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

Anders nodded. “I think... there was too much anger in me. Once we merged he began to change into something...dark. When I see templars now, things that have always outraged me but I could never do anything about...he comes out. Except he isn’t Justice anymore. Not as you knew him. He has become a force of vengeance and he has no grasp of mercy.”

_He has become a demon_. The words went unspoken, but Keri heard them nonetheless. Everything Justice had feared about being trapped in the mortal realm had come true. And Anders blamed himself.

“Oh, Maker, Anders. I’m sorry.” She squashed the urge to wrap him in a hug - as much as he seemed like he could use one, she also doubted he would accept one from her. “Is... is there anything I can do? For either of you?”

“It’s not like that. He’s part of me now, as I am part of him. I feel his thoughts as though they were my own. Not even the greatest scholars could tell you where he ends and I begin. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. I made a choice, now I must live with the consequences.” He smiled at her, a tiny, tremulous little thing, but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you for listening, though. For not running away. I must admit, I was dreading your reaction. I had not expected...”

“My support?” Bitterness laced through her words and she prayed he realized that it was directed at herself, not at him. “I’ve hardly given you reason to believe otherwise, have I?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Maker’s _cock_ , Anders. Of all the lunatic ideas... But honestly? I can’t blame you. Flames, I wish I could but it’s not like I’ve never done stupid things for a friend. And Justice _was_ a friend. Is a friend. Whatever. How am I supposed to condemn you for helping a friend?”

“I bet you never turned yourself into an abomination for yours, though,” he muttered, but his smile had strengthened into something real and she couldn’t help but grin back.

“No, that particular one is all yours. But I did kill the Witch of the Wilds for a woman I thought was my sister.” She ignored the sharp sting of Morrigan’s betrayal, the one not even two years of distance had managed to soothe. She refused to wonder if the witch had been playing them all along, if all her talk of friendship and sisterhood had been nothing more than a farce to earn Keri’s trust.

“The Witch of the... You do get around, don’t you?” Anders’s voice was almost back to normal and that fact worked wonders to drive away the ghosts of Keri’s past.

“I also played matchmaker for Oghren and I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the whole Flemeth thing.”

Anders shook his head at her, smirk still touching at his mouth. “Maker’s breath, woman, stop it. You’re making it incredibly difficult to stay angry at you.”

“You say that like its a bad thing,” Keri replied with a shrug. The humor drained away from Anders’ face and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning at her.

“You realize I’m still furious with you, right?”

“I know.” And she did. She might have been hoping that had changed, hoping that it might yet change, but she had not expected it to.

“You realize Justice can’t decide if he’s more enraged at or disappointed in you?”

Keri snorted. “I assumed as much.” The fact that the personification of justice disapproved of her actions stung, but it was only to be expected. She had abandoned her duty and her people for her own selfish reasons. What possible reason could he have to approve of that?

Anders nodded, more of a pensive, thoughtful motion than one of agreement. Keri could feel the weight of his eyes on her and tilted her head to one side, studying him right back. What was he looking for?

After a moment of this stand-off Anders broke the silence with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“And you realize if you try to go into the Deep Roads without me I will hunt you down myself?”

“I - what?” She jerked her bead back as though he had struck out at her. Indeed, she rather felt as though he had, in his own way. Eyes narrowed, she regarded him with a wary kind of curiosity. “You’re going to have to repeat that one for me because I think I’m hearing things. I could have sworn you just demanded to come on a trip to the Deep Roads.”

“You heard me well enough the first time - I’m not going to repeat it just to satisfy your warped sense of humor. I’m coming with you.”

“But...you _hate_ the Deep Roads. I mean, no one in their right minds actually likes the Deep Roads, but you hate it to a terrifying degree.” Keri reached up to twist her fingers in her hair, yanking more strands out of her braid to fall around her face. This was insane. _Anders_ was insane. It was the only explanation. “After we got back from Kal Hirol all anyone had to do was say the _word_ ‘Deep Roads’ and you would go off on a rant the likes of which I’ve only ever heard once before, and that was Alistair enumerating the many wonderful qualities of cheese. Why are you offering - no, why are you _demanding_ to go down there again?”

Anders shrugged and ignored Keri’s outbursts with an air of imperturbability that came only from long experience. This was hardly the first time he had been privy to her...unique way of handling shock, after all. “Let’s just say I have my reasons and leave it at that. And can you really afford to turn me down? As of right now the only Warden you have can’t identify herself as a Warden for fear of giving herself away. You need someone who can actually warn the group when darkspawn are approaching, rather than dropping hints and praying someone catches on or whatever it was you had intended to do.” Keri felt a blush stain her cheeks - she had wondered how to get around that particular stumbling block, true, but she was certain she would have come up with a more effective solution than that. Hopefully. 

“Besides, if you take me with you Bethany can stay behind. I saw you two together for all of ten minutes and I could still see how protective you are of her; are you really going to risk bringing her into the Deep Roads, where anything can happen to her, just to avoid working with me again?”

“I’m not avoiding anything!” Keri protested, because it was true. If Anders was genuinely offering to join the expedition there was no way she could refuse him. But still. “I don’t understand why you would want anything to do with us, is all. Well, anything to do with _me_. I get why the rest of us are going - Varric’s brother is in charge of the expedition and Bethany and I are looking for a way to keep her safe. What do you get out of it? Why would you risk coming?”

“Because you need me,” Anders said as though that explained everything. And how was Keri supposed to argue with that? She did need him: there was no denying the fact. She just hadn’t expected him to care enough to do anything about it. She especially hadn’t expected him to care enough to be willing to face down his nightmares in order to help her. She had done nothing to deserve that - had in fact done everything possible to deserve the exact opposite - and she had no idea how to even begin to handle it. Humbled by his faith, she inclined her head in a slow nod.

“I do. Thank you, Anders.”

Anders brushed aside her gratitude with a casual wave of his hand. “Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Now get out of here - I have patients to tend to and you have a sister and a dwarf to placate. You do realize you’re going to face a veritable interrogation about me the next time you see them, don’t you? You’re not nearly as subtle as you think.”

He was right, damn him. After her actions over the past twelve hours there was no way Bethany or Varric would believe her if she tried to brush it all aside. She would have to do some very fast talking if she wanted to keep her secret safe.

“Oh, balls,” she swore, throwing her hands into the air. “I cannot win for losing today.” She grinned at Anders, the promise of his aid putting her in a good mood that not even the thought of Bethany’s probing questions could damper. “You’re not going to come and watch me try to wriggle my way out of this one?”

Anders chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve seen you talk your way out of worse corners than this, Commander.” Normally she would balk at his use of the title, but the teasing little smirk he shot her as he said it took the sting out of the word. “I have no doubt that you’ll manage to spin some elaborate tale this is at once utterly ridiculous and yet completely believable. I’m needed here.”

“Suit yourself. We’ll be running around for the next few weeks putting together enough capital to buy our way onto the expedition. If we come across something that could use a mage’s skill, are you interested? Lots of opportunities to shoot lightning at fools.”

The laugh she got at that - a fond throwback to easier times - was glorious. Maker, but she had missed this man.

“Out, before I shoot lightning at _you_ ,” Anders threatened, one hand raised in warning. Keri tossed him a mocking salute and slipped out the door. All in all, she decided, that conversation had been a resounding success.


	11. In Search of a Story

The hour just before dawn, Keri decided as she wove her way through the Lowtown hexes, was her favorite time of day. She loved that lull between the time Kirkwall’s more unsavory residents called it a night, pre-dawn shedding just a little too much light on their activities, and the more respectable tradesmen and laborers roused themselves for the day’s work. At times like these, with the morning fog off the Waking Sea muffling what little noise there was, Keri could almost pretend she had the entire city to herself.

She saw only two other souls on her trek to the Hanged Man - a beggar glowering at her from his hidey-hole between two buildings and Lady Elegant preparing her stall for the day’s customers. She could not decide if she was disappointed by this fact or not - on the one hand it meant that she didn’t have to deal with any unwelcome interruptions on her way but on the other hand it gave her far too much time to dwell on the inquisition she knew awaited her. If she had possessed any amount of common sense at all she would have used the time to concoct a believable explanation for her actions over the past day - her determination to speak to Anders alone, her familiarity with him after just one meeting, her willingness to leave her sister in Varric’s care in order to chase him halfway across the city. Instead she fretted, worrying her lower lip as she considered all the unpleasant possibilities that might await her inside the tavern. She just prayed she could find a way to make it through the encounter with both her secrets and her adopted family intact.

When no one accosted her the moment she entered the Hanged Man’s common room, Keri glanced around with a confused frown. Varric and Bethany _should_ have been waiting for her, _should_ have pounced on her before she had a chance to rally her defenses. It was a sound strategy, one Bethany had used numerous times to wrest information from her recalcitrant sister. She knew it worked; there was no reason for her to abandon the tactic now.

And yet contrary to all of Keri’s expectations the common room was empty of both dwarves and sisters. Only Corff, tucked away in his usual spot behind the bar, and Norah, cleaning up the debris the night’s patrons had left scattered about, gave any sort of life to the usually-bustling tavern. Keri had a moment of blind panic, a year’s worth of careful guardianship of Bethany manifesting as sheer terror at the realization that she was not where she was supposed to be, before she remembered: Varric had private rooms upstairs. Bethany was not missing. Bethany was safe.

She took a second to regain her composure, to steady her breathing and calm her racing heart. As soon as she had herself under control once more she climbed the short flight of stairs leading up to what few private rooms the Hanged Man offered. She reached the door to Varric’s rooms far too quickly for her tastes and had to take a deep, steadying breath before she could bring herself to shove the door open.

The sight that greeted her upon her entrance was far from the one she had been expecting. Rather than anxiously awaiting Keri’s arrival and the answers she brought with her, Varric and Bethany were huddled together at the opposite end of Varric’s massive worktable as they scrutinized the pair of playing cards in Bethany’s hand. It took several moments full of muffled whispers before either of them deigned to notice Keri’s presence and even then it was only to turn to look at her in unison, matching expressions of expectation on their faces. One look at the identical pair of raised eyebrows and cocked heads and Keri decided that they had been spending far too much time together - there had to be some sort of freakish mind-mend thing going on there. But she opted to ignore that fact for the moment in favor of far more pressing concerns. Shooting her sister and (friend? Acquaintance? She wasn’t entirely sure how to classify Varric just then) a cocky grin, she threw herself into one of the many empty chairs.

“Ooh, Diamondback! Excellent game; can I play?” She reached across the table for the deck but Varric swept it out of her reach. He fixed her with a flat stare that Bethany mirrored and Keri heaved a sigh. Here it came.

“You, Serrah Hawke,” he began, studying her through narrowed eyes, “have been holding out on us. What’s the story with you and that Warden of yours? As your future business partner I feel I have a right to know these things.”

And that was so far beyond ridiculous Keri couldn’t help but laugh. “’Business partner’ my ass, Tethras. You’re just looking for more fodder for your books and you know it.” Oh, she had heard stories about Varric’s books: _everyone_ had heard stories about Varric’s books. The last four alone had been banned by the city guard as libelous filth. Aveline in particular had not been best-pleased with the series’ tag-line: “a dirty guard on the edge.” Keri had made certain to buy her the complete set for Feastday last winter.

Come to think of it, there might be a reason why Aveline did not like her very much.

Varric just dismissed her clarification with an elaborate wave of one broad hand. “Same thing. You have a story, I have a need to hear it. Now spill.”

Keri hesitated, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s really not much of a story.” She was stalling and she knew it, but she had no answers ready that would satisfy her exacting audience. After another noticeable pause, Bethany leaned forward to catch her eye.

“Please, sister. It could be important.”

Keri’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Varric she could shrug off with jokes and deflections. There was no overwhelming need to give him anything more than a good story, regardless of whether he believed it or not. If it was interesting, he wouldn’t care. Bethany? Bethany was another matter entirely. And while Keri couldn’t give her the truth she could damn well find a way to at least give her some kind of peace of mind.

With a resigned sigh she reached forward to snag one of the discarded playing cards from the center of the table. She twirled it between her fingers as she thought, light from the wall sconces flashing off its slick surface.

“Right. You know Athenril had me running jobs that were...well, let’s just say they were not exactly templar-approved?” This particular question she directed at Varric - Bethany had long-since wrung all the interesting details of her employment out of her. Varric studied her, expression unreadable.

“You’re talking about freeing mages.”

Keri nodded, eyes never leaving the dwarf’s face. While he had never seemed to have a problem with Bethany and Anders’s status as apostates she did not know how he felt about the idea of mage freedom in general. It was possible he only put up with illegal mages in order to guarantee Keri’s cooperation in his expedition. She doubted it, but it was possible. It wasn’t until Varric motioned for her to continue without a hint of condemnation that she allowed herself to relax.

“Well, we didn’t actually get them out of the Gallows - Athenril didn’t think the risk was worth the reward. Instead the underground - that’s what this mage freedom group calls itself - they’d send one of their people in to enact the escape itself. That person lead the would-be apostates to a prearranged meeting place, passed them off to us and we made sure they got safely out of the city.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “While this insight into the daily activities of our local revolutionaries is fascinating, I’m not seeing the relevance here.”

“Maybe you should shut up and let me talk, then,” Keri snapped, but there was no true ire in her voice, just a playful teasing. When Varric raised his hands in silent surrender she couldn’t keep the self-satisfied smirk off her face. “As I was saying” - here she shot another quelling glare Varric’s way for good measure - “Anders was one of those contacts. We’ve run a handful of jobs together over the last year.”

She had no idea of Anders was actually involved with the mage underground at all but after the way he had talked that night she suspected that if not it was only a matter of time: Mistress Selby had a talent for recruiting those sympathetic to her cause. Athenril wasn’t the only person Keri had been working jobs for recently, after all.

She waited for the reactions of her companions but several seconds ticked by in silence. When she turned to frown at Varric in confusion she found amusement dancing in his eyes and a hand clamped over his mouth.

“I’m done talking: you can speak now,” she clarified, shaking her head. “Idiot.” Varric only response was a deep chuckle.

“Why didn’t you just tell us that in the first place?” Bethany asked. There was no hurt in her voice, no betrayal or suspicion. Just a gentle curiosity.

“Do you know what happens to someone who gets caught helping mages escape the Gallows?” Keri tried to keep her tone light but suspected she was not quite as successful as she might have liked. She couldn’t meet Bethany’s eyes, gaze fixed instead on the card in her hand. She hadn’t ever intended for Bethany to learn just how many risks she had taken over the last year, how dangerous her job had really been: her sister had enough misplaced guilt to carry around without Keri adding more to it. So she had always emphasized the clever infiltrations and daring cross-city flights from pursuing guards and downplayed the actual consequences of getting caught. But that wasn’t an option this time and not just because of her cover story. If Bethany was going to be running around with her as she tried to raise money for this expedition then she had to know exactly what she was getting into. She had to know the risks.

“People like Varric and me get off easy - we get tossed into a cell somewhere until the Knight-Commander feels we’ve learned our lesson. No one knows how long that takes, though - I don’t know of anyone who has actually been released after getting caught. But for a mage, for you or Anders? Tranquility. Immediately, no questions asked, delayed only long enough for them to set up the damned ritual.”

Bethany paled, brown eyes huge in her face. But she did not interrupt so Keri took the opportunity to finish her explanation.

“As I’m certain you can imagine, mages with the underground are understandably paranoid and they only trust outsiders as much as they have to in order to complete their missions. What do you think would have happened if I had shown up at Anders’s clinic with a group of armed strangers in tow?”

“I’m going to guess nothing good.”

Keri shot Varric a wry smile. “Pretty much. He already knew me, though, so I figured I could get in, get the maps and get out without anyone trying to fireball anyone else.”

She watched as he processed this, running her story through whatever internal critique system he had. After an interminable amount of time, he heaved a sigh.

“Hawke, you really do not understand the fine art of storytelling, do you?” he asked, and had he not been smiling as he said it Keri might have been concerned. “There’s no such thing as ‘not much of a story.’ It’s all in how you tell it. Why, I could have audiences enthralled by the story of a Lowtown smuggler with a heart of gold and her adventures with the selfless Darktown healer. It’s a classic - they’ll eat it up!” He leaned forward in his seat, steepling his hands and grinning at her. “Now, then. As with any good story, I’m going to need details.”

The playing card flew across the table to smack Varric squarely in the center of his forehead. He reached up to rub at the raised red mark it left, expression twisted into one of mock-hurt.

“Really, Hawke. You have no appreciation for art.”

“There is one thing I still want to know, Sister.” The sound of Bethany’s voice drew Keri away from her impending argument with Varric. She glanced over at her sister, whose face was scrunched up in a strange mixture of curiosity and worry, as though staring at a problem that as much as she wanted to solve it she was just as afraid of what she might find. “When we were in the Chantry, he started to... well, he changed. What happened?”

She had been waiting for one of them to ask that question. It was only a matter of time - they had, after all, just witnessed something that none of them had ever seen before, that none of them had any explanation for. Keri shrugged.

“You’d have to ask him that one,” she said, and Varric scoffed.

“You’re telling me you don’t _know_?” he demanded, and if he tried to squeeze any more doubt into his voice Keri was half-afraid it would spontaneously coalesce into some coagulated creature of incredulity. A spirit of skepticism to go with Anders’s spirit of justice.

And oh sweet merciful Maker she needed sleep, if that was the kind of thing running through her mind.

“I didn’t say that. I just said you’d have to ask him. It’s not my story to tell.”

As always, it was Bethany who acted as the voice of reason in the discussion.

“Then tell us this: is he - whatever he is - is he dangerous?”

Keri met her gaze and held it. “If he wasn’t, do you think I would let him anywhere _near_ you?” she asked. Bethany nodded, ceding the point.

“Then we’ll simply have to get our answers from him the next time we see him. I assume he’s going to stick around for a while?”

“He wants to come with us on the expedition,” Keri said with an easy shrug, as nonchalant as she could make it. “I don’t think we could afford to turn him down even if we wanted to - he’s a Grey Warden. The Deep Roads are kind of their territory, aren’t they?”

“’If we wanted to’?” Varric, it seemed, was just a little to observant for Keri’s peace of mind. “Should we take that to mean we don’t want to?”

Bethany, traitor that she was, giggled. “Of course she doesn’t want to: didn’t you see the way she looked at him? She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him.”

Keri groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “ _Bethany_...”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Sister,” Bethany retorted with a happy smile. “I think it’s wonderful. I want you to be happy and this is the first time I’ve seen you interested in anyone since I - well.”

If Varric noticed Bethany’s slip of the tongue he did not mention it, choosing instead to fix Keri with what she decided to call his “writer who smells a story” expression - narrowed eyes, body tilted forward in his chair and fingers twitching as though searching for a pen. Keri sighed.

“I’m not interested in Anders, Beths.” Her brow furrowed as she considered that statement. “At least not in the way you’re implying. I can’t figure him out is all; he confuses me.”

It was something of an understatement but it was the best explanation she could give without getting into all the gritty details about just _why_ Anders baffled her. Unfortunately her attempted correction only served to widen her sister’s grin.

“He’s perfect for you, then. Admit it, Sister: you’ve never been able to resist a puzzle.”

“I can resist anything I damn well want to resist,” Keri groused good-naturedly as she rose from her seat. She attempted to glare at her sister but judging by the laughter still dancing in Bethany’s eyes it was far from effective. After a few moments she subsided with a grumble. “I hate you all.”

Ignoring Bethany’s muffled giggle and Varric’s amused snort, she linked her hands over her head and stretched up toward the ceiling to work the kinks out of her back.

“And on that note if the two of you are quite finished gossiping about my nonexistent love life there is a decrepit old mattress over at Gamlen’s that is calling my name. Beths?”

“Actually...” All of a sudden Bethany would not meet her eyes. Oh, that was not a good sign. “I thought I might stay here for a while. Varric’s been teaching me card games and it’s not like I’d really be in any danger.”

Keri squashed her knee-jerk reaction to refuse, to insist that Bethany come back with her where she could keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe, and instead tried to think about the situation rationally. She had left Bethany alone at Gamlen’s for hours, even days at a time. Would leaving her here with Varric be that much more dangerous? If he had wanted to turn her over to the templars he would have done it already. Wouldn’t he?

When she did not immediately respond, Bethany finally raised her eyes to meet Keri’s gaze and the pleading hopefulness she found there wore away the last of her resistance. 

“Two rules,” she snapped and a huge grin spread across Bethany’s face as she realized that Keri wasn’t going to force her to leave. “Rule one: you stay here. No gallivanting around Kirkwall until I get back. We clear?”

Bethany nodded, still grinning.

“Good. Rule two: if you need to go home before I get back, under no circumstances are you to do so alone. I want Varric walking you back. Sound fair?”

In lieu of an answer Bethany just leaped up from her seat to engulf Keri in a hug. Keri returned the embrace, trying desperately to ignore the knot of nerves twisting around in her gut. Bethany would be fin. Although it couldn’t hurt to make sure... Pushing herself up onto her toes so she could see over her sister’s shoulder, she shot Varric a stern glare.

“Take care of her, would you? I’d hate to have to hunt you down if something happens to my baby sister.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Bethany muttered without any real heat as she pulled away. “I’m not a child.”

“Oh, humor me, would you? I enjoy playing overprotective big sister - it gives me purpose in life.”

Bethany huffed and turned away from Keri to sit back down beside Varric. “If you’re going to leave, then do so. Varric was just starting to teach me how to count cards before you so rudely interrupted us.”

That statement earned the dwarf another narrow-eyed glare. “So help me, Tethras, if you’re corrupting her...”

“Who, me?” Varric pressed a hand over his heard. “Serrah, I am wounded by your distrust.”

With an exasperated roll of her eyes Keri turned around and headed for the door. Over her shoulder she called out, “and don’t forget we’re supposed to head to the city guards’ barracks today: we’re overdue for a visit to bother Aveline.”

Bethany nodded and waved her off, attention already on the hand of cards Varric was dealing out. Keri frowned as she left Varric’s suite - how was Bethany so awake when all Keri wanted to do was find somewhere to collapse for the next eight hours? Then she realized - Bethany had been asleep while Keri was off poking around Darktown in search of Anders’s clinic and having incredibly awkward reunions. She had probably managed a good five or six hours of sleep before Keri had woken her up to go break into the Chantry.

Dawn had broken by the time Keri finally made it back to Gamlen’s shack where she found Leandra just beginning to get ready for her day. Leandra’s pleased expression upon seeing Keri walk through the front door morphed into panic as she realized that Bethany was not with her.

“Dearest, where is your sister? You were both gone when I woke up this morning: I assumed you had taken her with you for the day.”

“Bethany is fine,” Keri hastened to reassure her, coming over to kiss Leandra on the cheek. “She’s with a friend of ours - he promised to keep an eye on her for me while I crashed here for a few hours.”

“I see.” Leandra frowned and Keri could tell her words had done little to assuage her adopted mother’s worry. “This friend of yours: you’re certain he can be trusted?”

“Yeah,” Keri replied, surprised to realize just how much she meant it. “I do. He’s a good man, Leandra.”

“I suppose I must take your word for it.” While not a rousing endorsement, Leandra would not be satisfied until Bethany was safely back under her watchful eye and Keri knew it. Until that happened, this was the best she was going to get. “Tell me then what you two were up to that required you to leave at such an early hour this morning.”

With a tired smile - all she really wanted to do right then was go to bed but attempting to dodge this particular conversation would not end well for anyone - Keri took a seat at the rickety wooden table and began to regale Leandra with a severely-edited version of the night’s highlights, paying particular attention to the advantages of having a healer traveling with them. Not to mention a mage who was not her beloved Bethany.

“Does that mean...?” Leandra trailed off, unable to even finish the question. Keri nodded.

“Yeah. Anders has offered to go into the Deep Roads with us. Bethany’s staying here.” A brief pause as Keri nibbled on her lower lip. “Of course, I now have to figure out how to tell _her_ that.”

“Oh, thank the Maker!” At that Keri found herself enveloped in her second unexpected hug of the morning. With a small, pleased smile, Keri lifted her arms to wrap around Leandra in turn.

 

_Excerpt from the journal of Kerilyn Cousland Hawke_

_[19 Drakonis 9:33 Dragon]_

_Oh, Maker, it has been an excruciating day. All I want to do is curl up and go to sleep and yet here I am, trying to get everything written down while it’s still fresh in my mind. All those not-nearly-as-subtle-as-they-think-they-are Fereldan nobles were right: I’ve lost it._

_When_ was _the last time I added to this stupid thing, anyway? So much has happened lately that it’s getting hard to keep track. I think I had just gotten back from Anders’s clinic, right? So a quick summation of the last eight hours: broke into the Chantry, found Karl already Tranquil, watched Anders snap (and I’m talking full-on, eye-glowing, skin-cracking nuts here: more on that later) killed a bunch of templars, watched Anders mercy-kill his friend (and lover, I suspect, though I was not so crass as to actually ask about that particular detail), and in a stunning display of poor judgment left Bethany with Varric while I chased Anders halfway across the city in search of an explanation, opening myself to all sorts of awkward questions to which I had no good answers._

 _For the record, that last part? I don’t regret in the slightest. There was no way I was going to leave him on his own, not after what he had just gone through. Maker, if you could have see his face as he watched Karl die. I know that look: I saw it in the mirror the night after the Landsmeet. That’s the look of someone whose entire world has just come crashing down around their ears and they don’t know how to move on. At that point I didn’t care if he hated me, I had to make sure that he was...not okay because no one is okay after something like that, but capable of moving on. I had to make sure that he could at some point in the future_ become _okay._

 _Besides, apparently I trust Varric now, even with Bethany’s safety. Don’t ask me how or when that happened, because I’m still not entirely sure, but he seems like he’s “good people,” as Rory Gilmore would have said (and how long has it been since I’ve thought about_ him _?) and he’s been going out of his way to help us. I think... I think this could work out._

_But I said I was going to explain about the whole “glowing” thing, wasn’t I? I still don't have details - and as desperate as I am for them, I refuse to push Anders to divulge them. I gave up my right to know what was going on with the Wardens a long time ago. That doesn't mean I can't be maddeningly curious. But something big happened that lead to Anders, of all people, agreeing to a merger with Justice. Which means that Anders is now, by the strictest definition of the term, an abomination._

_I think if I hadn't had my experiences with Wynne to draw from I might have had more problems with this than I did. I think I shocked him when I didn't condemn him for the very idea. But then, how could I? In that situation, can I guarantee that I wouldn't have done the same?_

_I mean, I probably wouldn't have, but that's not because it wouldn't have occurred to me or I disapproved of the idea itself. I just... I'd be worried that what happened to Anders would happen to me. My head is... not a good place for a spirit of justice to be, and it seems like Anders' isn't, either. Which doesn't surprise me, but the way in which it manifests does. He's_ too angry _, he said. His anger warped Justice into something closer to vengeance, something utterly without mercy. I don't think I would have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself. Whatever it was that came out of him in the Chantry was neither Justice nor justice. It was revenge. It was vengeance._

_And oh, I'm worried about him. There is no way this can be good for him. But there's also no way I can do anything about it. That impotency is what I'm having the biggest problem with, I think. I'm used to seeing an issue and finding a way to fix it. This time all I can do is be there for him if he needs me. There is no fixing it, not this time._

_At least I'll get a_ chance _to be there, the way I wasn't before. Anders has insisted on sticking around and (and here is what I really don't understand, but I'm not about to question it for fear of changing his mind) coming with us into the Deep Roads. It'll be nice, to have Anders beside me once more._

_The interesting part will be when I tell Bethany that I'm not letting her come on the expedition with us. The only reason I was going to allow it at all was because I refuse to go into the Deep Roads without a mage. With Anders joining us, there is no reason to risk her to the taint. She's staying here, where she'll be safe. Well, relatively speaking. But I'd rather lose her to the templars than to the darkspawn._

_I just hope she sees it the same way..._

_\- K.H._


	12. Queen of the Eastern Seas and Sharpest Blade in Llomeryn

Keri managed to get in four or five hours of sleep before the everyday noise of life in Lowtown forced her back to wakefulness. From the sound of things one of their neighbors had just caught her husband carrying on an affair with one of the men at the Blooming Rose. Or maybe he had just forgotten to buy fish at the market this morning; she couldn't quite make it out. Whatever it was, the woman had a nasally screech that ensured any hope Keri had of catching a few more hours' rest dissipated in moments. She had developed the ability to sleep through many things while on the road during the Blight, but that particular vocal range was not one of them. The sound reminded her of Morrigan's alarm wards, which Keri was convinced the witch had designed to burst the eardrums of anyone who was unfortunate enough to be standing too close to the edge of camp when one went off.

Keri sighed as she rolled out of bed - wasn't _that_ a delightful thought to wake up to, she groused as she stumbled her way through her room, scrounging up an outfit that didn't smell too horrible. At some point in the near future she was gong to have to buckle down and actually wash her clothes, lest everything she owned end up reeking of blood and sewer. After dunking her head in the washbasin in an attempt to regain full consciousness she picked her way through the Lowtown crowd to the Hanged Man.

When she opened the door to see Bethany sitting beside Varric in the Hanged Man’s common room, halfway through a round of what looked like Wicked Grace, a knot in Keri’s stomach that she hadn’t even realized was there started to uncurl. Rationally she had known that Bethany would be fine on her own with Varric for a few hours, but all the rationality in the world couldn’t stop her from fretting every time her sister was out of her sight. As Keri slid into the seat they had left empty for her, flashing them both a tired smile by way of greetings, a commotion over on the opposite side of the room caught her attention. She turned in her chair to see what the problem was and had to laugh at the sight of the woman brawling with a trio of men in the empty space in front of the bar.

"Deja vu," she murmured, not quite loud enough to be heard over the crashes coming from the fight. There was, after all, no mistaking the scantily-clad duelist wiping the floor with her opponents. For half a moment Keri considered stepping in to help but at this point anyone with eyes could tell she wasn't needed. As likely as not the pirate in question would take any interference on Keri's part as an insult. So she sat back and watched, fond grin on her face as the fight - if you could even call an affair so obviously one-sided as this a fight - proceeded. It took only a few moments for the woman to send the thugs sprawling across the floor, her dagger at their leader’s throat. She murmured something that Keri couldn't quite make out but made the man turn tail and run, his lackeys scrambling to follow without drawing their opponent's attention. Blithely unconcerned, the woman turned back to her abandoned drink and Keri took the opportunity to stand up and wander over, arms crossed over her chest and hip propped hip against the counter, a wicked grin on her face.

"Well, well. That was quite the display," she drawled, watching in amusement as the captain of the _Siren's Call_ turned to give her a thorough once-over. Very thorough. Keri was rather surprised she was still wearing clothes at the end of it.

"Hmm. I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. I'm -"

"Captain Isabela," Keri finished for her, smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Oh, she remembered Isabela. Thankfully, she remembered Isabela in a strictly no-names-associated kind of way - at that point Loghain was still doing everything in his power to wipe out the last of the Wardens and it would take someone with less common sense than even Keri usually displayed to run around babbling her life story to strange women in brothels. Even if she had given Isabela a name when they met, it was doubtful that she gave her the right one.

"...Right." Isabela frowned and set her drink on the table, her full attention now focused on Keri. "Now, who the blazes are you? If Castillon sent you, I'll tell you now, you're wasting your time. I don't have it."

Keri raised her hands and took a single step back, shifting her stance into something less confrontational. "Relax, Captain. I don't even know who Castillon is. The only reason I know your name is you told it to me."

"I...did?"

Keri nodded and cocked her head in amusement as Isabela frowned, eyes narrowed as she tried to place her. After a few moments, Keri took pity on her.

"About...oh, two years ago, now. You taught me to duel."

Well, if you used the term "taught" loosely, that is. A more accurate description would have been that Isabela had given her a few pointers about how to utilize daggers in battle to maximum effect, which Keri had then taken and adapted to her own sword-and-dagger style of fighting.

A look of recognition crossed Isabela's face and she snapped her fingers. "Right! Denerim, the Pearl, you had a positively delicious blond with you." She made a face. "You beat me at cards."

"Technically I just cheated better than you did."

"Wait, what's this?" Keri startled out of the conversation to glance down at the dwarf at her elbow. It seemed that Varric and Bethany had gotten tired of waiting for her across the room. "You two know each other?"

"Only vaguely," Keri cut in when Isabela opened her mouth to say something that Keri just _knew_ was going to be dirty. If she remembered correctly, there was nothing that Isabela could not turn into something dirty. And with remarkably little effort. It was quite the skill: Keri was a little envious. Isabela chuckled.

"If you say so, sweet thing." Keri rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored her, opting instead for a round of introductions.

“Varric, Beths, meet Isabela, Captain of the _Siren’s Call_.”

Isabela sketched a mock-bow, but there was a bitter smirk on her face that belied the easy humor of the gesture.

“Formerly captain of the _Siren’s Call_ ,” she corrected with a shrug that was not quite as casual as she had probably intended. “Sadly, my ship ran afoul of a reef nearby.” A brief pause and she shook her head, dispelling her foul mood. “Anyway! You obviously know me and I definitely remember your face but I’m afraid I’m just terrible with names. You are?”

Keri grinned and held out a hand. “Keri Hawke.” As Isabela reached out to shake her hand, Keri jerked her head toward her companions. “My sister, Bethany, and Varric Tethras.”

“Hmm.” Isabela studied Keri again, though this time her look was a little less sexual and a lot more appraising. "You know, you might be just who I need to solve a little problem I have."

Keri laughed. Of course she was. You’d think she would be used to this by now, random people stopping to ask for her help. "You and everyone else, it seems. What's the problem, why do you think I can help, what do you need me to do and what do I get out of the deal?" She had found over the years that it was best to just get all her questions out of the way at once. They could move on from there.

"The second one's obvious, isn't it?" Isabela asked with a smirk. "You just said I taught you - you've got to be better than the riff-raff I could find around this place. And besides, you seem like a woman who can get things done. I need someone like that. As to the rest, well." She shrugged, a graceful, liquid roll of her shoulders that Keri immediately envied. "Someone from my past has been pestering me. I've arranged for a duel - if I win, he leaves me alone. But I don't trust him to play fair: I need someone to watch my back."

Of course it was a duel. With Isabela, it couldn't be anyone else. Though Keri suspected this mysterious "someone" wasn't the only one who, given the opportunity, wouldn't play fair. Not that Keri could truly blame her - if she weren’t willing to bend the rules of honorable combat, she would have died in Highever with her family. She’d choose survival over honor any day.

“A duel?” Confusion laced Bethany’s voice as she moved to stand beside Keri. “Why a duel?”

“I like duels,” Isabela replied, smiling over at Bethany in a way that made every one of Keri’s over-developed protective instincts flare up. A quick side-step put her right between Isabela and Bethany, drawing the pirate’s attention to her and blocking her sister from sight.

"If _that's_ all you need, you could have your pick of the louts in this place."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "I didn’t mean that literally. Well, not _just_ literally. I've already told you why I want your help. Most of these people..." she trailed off, frowning, then chuckled. "Well, they wouldn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end."

Keri shivered, hand gripping the counter tight enough to hurt. She knew that phrase, knew where Isabela had gotten it. What she hadn't realized was that Isabela and Zevran knew each other. When she had told her story about the pirate captain she met in a Denerim brothel, Zevran had never let on that he knew said pirate captain. And knew said pirate captain quite well, judging by Isabela's familiarity with one of Zevran's favorite phrases.

Maker, she missed that stupid bastard so much it hurt sometimes. 

And apparently today was the day of awkward reminders of the life she gave up. First Anders, now Isabela and Zevran. If it turned out the King of Ferelden was in town visiting Viscount Dumar, she was going to stab someone. If she was lucky that someone would not be Alistair. She didn’t think she could get away with regicide anymore.

Which was just an incredibly bizarre thing to think. Huh.

She sighed. "All right. That leaves two questions - what do you need me to do and what do I get out of the deal? And let's go ahead and throw in 'who would I be up against,' just to round it all out."

"His name is Hayder. We worked together back in Antiva. He's never liked me, and now he's been asking about me all over Kirkwall. Thought I'd get it over with and meet him face to face. All you need to do is be there in case things go south, which knowing Hayder it probably will. As for what you get out of it, what do you want? Other than just my good graces, of course."

Keri pursed her lips, considering the matter. "Fifty percent of the take if things go the way you hope and Hayder shows up for a duel. Coin, weapons, valuables, the whole mess. If things don't go the way you want and it ends up in a proper fight, seventy five percent. At that point we're handling the majority of the work, so we get the majority of the profits."

For a moment it looked like Isabela was going to argue, try to barter her down into something a little more equitable. In the end though, she just nodded.

"Fair enough. I've arranged to meet Hayder in Hightown tonight, just after sunset. I'll meet you there - say, by the stairs leading up to the Viscount’s Keep." With that, Isabela drained the last of her drink and sauntered out of the tavern. Keri shook her head in amusement as three quarters of the Hanged Man’s patrons watched the pirate’s exit, eyes fixed on her swaying hips. People were so predictable sometimes. As the door swung shut behind Isabela, Keri turned to face Varric and Bethany.

"What?" she demanded as they both stared at her. Varric frowned.

"You were in Denerim?" he asked, voice deceptively casual. It drew a sigh from Keri - she should have expected this. Because Maker forbid anything she do go unquestioned.

"Briefly, just after Ostagar." This was, in the strictest sense, true. That particular trip to Denerim lasted just long enough to purchase what supplies they could afford and to get a feel for the current political climate. It wasn’t until much later that they had stayed in the city for any real length of time.

“You mean you didn’t go straight back to Lothering?”

Which...was a very valid question. As far as Varric knew, she had fled Lothering at the same time as Leandra and Bethany, had spent the entirety of the Blight in Gwaren in an attempt to find passage on a ship. Well, shit.

Keri flicked a glance over toward Bethany, who gave her the tiniest of shrugs. She hadn’t expected her to be able to help at all, but still. It would have been nice if Bethany had had some sort of explanation hidden up her sleeve.

See, this was why Keri never tried to infiltrate anything. She was terrible at maintaining her cover.

The worst part was that she knew Varric wasn’t questioning her identity. He just wanted to make sure he had the details right for the epic novel he was going to write about her many exploits. He wasn’t trying to poke holes in her cover stories in purpose; it was just his personality.

Maker, she had the absolute _worst_ luck.

“I didn’t stay in Lothering,” she said after a moment’s pause. Hopefully it was not long enough to arouse Varric’s suspicions, but it gave her a chance to pull her thoughts together. She might be able to salvage this whole thing, yet. “Those who survived Ostagar-” _those who quit the field, who left us to die_ , she did not say “-were gathered in Denerim so Loghain could determine how best to distribute his forces in order to consolidate his power. I was part of the army, remember.” It was sort of true, she supposed. She had been _with_ the army at Ostagar, even if she wasn’t actually part of it. “At that point I would have been labeled a deserter if I stayed in Lothering, or followed when everyone else fled to Gwaren. I opted to head to Denerim instead, see if I could help there.”

As the words tumbled out of her mouth with no real input from her brain, Keri heard them as though they were spoken by someone else entirely. It... wasn’t a half-bad story, she realized. She wished she knew how she had come up with it like that.

“And did you manage to help?” Varric asked, voice teasing. Keri rolled her eyes.

“Varric, dearest, at that point? There was nothing in this world that could help Denerim.”

She remembered the city from her childhood, under first Maric then Cailan’s rule. What it lacked in sophistication it made up for in character, loud and busy and varied, with people and goods from all over Thedas. How had Arl Eamon described it? “As stubborn as a mabari and as good to have on your side.” Well, the stubbornness may not have changed, but the city she experienced during the Blight was not the city she had grown up visiting. “Loud and busy” had become “over-crowded and crime-ridden,” “varied” had become “borderline xenophobic,” and over everything hung an almost palpable aura of doom. Sometimes she wondered if she shouldn’t have just let the archdemon have the blighted city and let Ferelden rebuild it from the ground up. It needed it.

Though could she honestly claim that Kirkwall was much better?

And there was a depressing thought, one she did not want to dwell on too fiercely. Keri sighed and shook her head to free it of such thoughts - it didn’t work, but it had been worth a try - and gave Varric a tired smile.

“Any more questions, oh nosy one, or can we move on?”

Varric laughed. “Hawke, if I were to ask all the question I have for you, we’d be here for days. Besides, half the fun is figuring it out for myself!” He led them back over to his table, gesturing for Corff to bring Keri something to eat. Normally she would pass on anything the Hanged Man called food - their ale was bad, but at least it was highly unlikely to kill you; the same couldn’t be said of the food - but she had not eaten since... Maker, she couldn’t even remember. At that point, even the unidentifiable slop Norah shoved in front of her face looked delicious. She tucked in, trying not to contemplate what exactly she was ingesting.

“So what’s the plan, fearless leader,” Varric asked as Keri shoveled food into her mouth. Wardens, even retired Wardens like she was, were not designed for missing meals. Oh, blessed Andraste, food was wonderful. Not this food specifically, she wasn’t _that_ far gone, but food in general was a glorious concept. She swallowed a particularly stringy piece of whatever passed for meat that day and leveled a glare at Varric.

“Why do I have to be in charge?” she demanded. “It’s your expedition, too!”

“Perish the thought, Hawke! You get to be the leader - I’ll sit here and be the power behind the throne.”

“What if I don’t want to be the leader?” Wasn’t that the entire purpose behind leaving Ferelden in the first place? Anonymity, blending in with the crowd? How was she supposed to do that if she was leading a ragtag band of lunatics around? Again.

“Would you rather stay in Lowtown with Gamlen, then, Sister?” Bethany asked. There was no judgment in her tone, but Keri felt a wave of shame crash through her anyway. Right. That’s why she was bothering with all this nonsense. Bethany. She sighed.

“Fine. Aveline first - I’ve been putting off that particular meeting for long enough as it is. If nothing else, we’re going to need a good sword arm for some of the things we need to do. I’m a fair hand with a blade, but I was trained to _avoid_ drawing enemy fire, not seek it out.”

This drew a curious frown from Varric. “Now that sounds like a story worth hearing,” he prodded and Keri just shrugged.

“Aveline doesn’t like me all that much.”

“That’s not it. Aveline likes you just fine. She just doesn’t trust you.” Keri almost laughed - of course Bethany would see it that way. The reality was far more complicated than simple distrust, the clash of two very different, very strong personalities, but Keri did not feel it necessary to correct her sister on the matter. Bethany adored Aveline as much as she did Keri and her interpretation of the situation made her far happier than the truth would.

Varric’s eyes flicked from Keri to Bethany and back again, seeking elaboration

“Why not?”

Another shrug. This lie, at least, came easily enough. “She’s a guardsman. I spent the last year working with smugglers. You do the math.”

In truth, Aveline did not trust her intentions toward the Hawkes. And Keri could not truly blame her - _she_ still had no idea why Leandra had taken such a shine to her so quickly, so how could she expect Aveline to understand? Aveline loved Bethany and Leandra, had developed a friendship and camaraderie during their mutual flight from Lothering and extended stay in Gwaren that ensured that she protected them as though they were her own family. And that, at least, Keri could understand. It was why she tried not to give Aveline _too_ much grief. Just enough to keep her on her toes; it wouldn’t do to let the guardswoman get bored, would it?

“Anyway, once we see if there’s anything Aveline needs done, Athenril’s also passed along a couple of jobs that I thought we might check out as soon as we get the time. Something about a mine infestation and something that looks a little less... on the level.” Here she stopped to shoot Bethany a glare. “You’re benched for those two. And don’t even think about arguing - the moratorium on your involvement in anything having to do with Athenril wasn’t lifted just because I stopped working for her.”

Bethany glared but could not argue - she had agreed to those terms, after all. She should not have been surprised that Keri would hold her to them.

“It’s only, what, two hours after midday? Assume it’ll take us at least two or three hours to deal with Aveline then another to track down this Hubert in the market to see what his deal is and that puts us close to sunset. Then we’ll drop by Darktown to grab Anders if he’s not too overwhelmed in the clinic - I’m not taking Aveline with us on anything that could get her in trouble with the guard or get me in trouble with her, so I want to make sure we have a healer close at hand. After that I figure we can loiter around Hightown until Isabela shows up. Whether that goes well or not, it shouldn’t take more than an hour or so and we can go check in with Anso, see what he has for us. Take care of that if we can, then call it a night.”

She finished rattling off her tentative plan of attack and turned to gauge her companions’ reactions, only to frown in confusion at the sight that greeted her. Bethany gaped at her, eyes wide as Varric shook his head with a bemused smile. Keri didn’t think she had ever seen Varric at a loss for words before and it was something of a stroke to her ego that she had managed to pull it off. She just wished she knew how.

“And it’s as easy as that, is it?” he asked after he recovered himself enough to speak. Keri frowned.

“Should it be more difficult?” At that, Varric threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rich sound that reverberated through the taproom.

“Hawke, your to-do list would make your average Kirkwaller cry just looking at it. How do you keep it all straight?”

“I... have a good memory?” She wasn’t sure what Varric was on about - it was a relatively tame day compared to some of the ones she had to deal with during - oh. That’d be it. Normal people probably didn’t judge their lives based on the theory of, “well, it’s easier than it was during the Blight.” Right. She’d have to remember that one. “It helps to write it down somewhere so you don’t forget, I guess.” She tucked back into her food in an attempt to avoid further questioning - if her mouth was full then maybe they would stop trying to make her talk. It was worth a try, at least. This just was not her day. She was going to blame exhaustion - between the mess that was last night and her excursion with Bethany the night before that, it had been more than two days since she had gotten more than four hours of sleep at a stretch.

And she was going to spend tonight picking fights with pirates. Genius, that was her.

She sighed and pushed her empty plate away. The sooner she got moving, the sooner she could finish what needed to be done and go back to Gamlen’s shack and sleep for a week.


End file.
